Snape's Paws
by ocean of rage
Summary: Severus Snape has been missing for months. Hermione Granger stumbles across a wounded dog in the park. There can't be a connection…right?
1. Chapter 1

Snape's Paws

_Muggle London, England, 2003, October 20th_

One

Severus Snape had been missing since the end of August. The Ministry had sent out several teams of Aurors with half-assed attempts to find the dour Potions master but to no avail. Slowly, he became old news but the Hogwarts staff and the Golden Trio kept searching; they wouldn't rest until they found him.

Hermione Granger was walking through the snow-covered park near her studio/flat when she heard it: a soft, pitiful whine. She turned towards the sound and stepped closer, snow crunching beneath her boots.

Parting the bushes, she saw a skeletally thin, lanky-haired dog. It was breathing shallow and seemed to be in pain due to the bleeding gashes on its back. She dropped to her knees and stroked the side of its snout; the lips curled back in a weak snarl and black eye rolled up to hers.

"Ssh, you're gonna be just fine, baby," she whispered to the injured animal. It whined and turned its head away as she picked it up—bloody hell, it weighed less a kitchen chair—easily and stroked its underside. She then found out it was a male dog.

"Who did this to you, baby boy? I absolutely hate animal abusers." She carried the dog back to her studio, where she kicked off her boots and pulled off her coat. The dog laid down the moment his paws touched the carpet. "Here," she whispered, casting a glance around before casting the spell. "_Ferula_." Bandages laced over his back and stopped the bleeding. Seeming more comfortable, the dog slowly got to his feet and started towards the fireplace.

"How about some food?"

At the word food, the dog's spiky ears perked up and he wagged his tail a tiny bit. Hermione smiled and set about fixing him some food. "You haven't by chance seen a tall, thin man with long black hair, a sour expression and black eyes, have you?"

The dog stared at her very hard, as though trying to tell her something as she set down a bowl of kibble and a bowl of water. "Want them by the fire?" she asked as he padded over to the fireplace and rested there while she turned it on.

"He's very important to me," she continued, peeling off her damp socks. Her sweatshirt came off, revealing an off-the-shoulder crop top and she piled her hair into a half-assed bun. Her sweats were chilled but not damp so she kept them on. "He was the bravest man I ever knew," [1] she said to the dog.

He huffed and settled his head between his paws, gazing at her calmly. "You're a really quiet dog," she said as she stroked behind his ears. Her nose wrinkled. "You, mister, need a bath though but that'll wait until your back gets better." He snorted at her and she had the sense he was laughing at her.

"I have a cat, though. He's somewhere. Crooks?" Hermione called behind her. The fat, orange Familiar padded around the corner, gave the dog a suspicious look before walking closer, settling himself right against the dog's side.

"Well, Crooks, you've never done that. You _hate _dogs." The witch tugged at her ear. The dog huffed at her as his tail thumped. Crookshanks purred and settled down in a stretch, purring contentedly. "What should I call you?"

She rattled off a few names.

"You remind me of a dog I once had when I was little." She strokes underneath the canine's chin, to which he thumped his tail at. "His name was Cyrus." The dog rested his cheek against her wrist and stared at her in the most unnerving way. She shifted uncomfortably.

"I think I'll call you Darcy." She smiled softly when the dog licked her hand and then lay down, closing his eyes. Hermione smiled to herself as she got up and undressed as she walked down the hallway. Her muscles hated the cold and acted up frequently.

Under the hot spray, she cried because she couldn't find the brilliant wizard. She cried for the dog sitting outside, abused and half-dead. She cried for the nightmares that kept her awake and covered in sweat most nights. She cried and cried and cried for the useless relationships that never got far, for the scars on her body, for her heavy weight, for being ugly, for being useless. When the water ran cold, she got out and wrapped herself in a green and silver towel before padding outside.

She turned off the fireplace and gently roused Crookshanks and Darcy. With a bit nudging on Crookshanks's part, Darcy hobbled down to Hermione's bedroom as she pulled on a clean pair of panties. In the light, her scars were all she could see.

The Mudblood from Lestrange, the hex from Dolohov and some of her own device made her frown as she pulled on a pair of simple black sweats. She reached into her underwear/bra/sock drawer and pulled out a pristine photo and sighed as she stroked it lovingly. After sliding on a loose t-shirt, she noticed Darcy staring at her.

The way he stared at her unnerved the witch, to the say the least. It didn't look like the stare a dog gave; it looked like the one a man gave an attractive woman. "See, Darcy? This is him—this is Severus Snape, the bravest man I ever knew." She got to her knees and showed him the photo.

It was one she had snuck while Snape was busy. He was dressed in simple shirtsleeves that were rolled up, his hair pushed back out of his face and making his features more pronounced, and his thick, black glasses gleamed in the light. He was obviously grading papers.

"He was, quite honestly, the most brilliant man I ever had the pleasure of meeting." She smiled softly, stroked the side of his jaw in the photo, and then returned it to the drawer.

Darcy barked very loudly, startling her half to death. She gave him a warning glare, to which he gave one of his own, and then she crawled into bed. Crookshanks occupied the pillow to her right side. Slowly, the bed dipped and a solid body pressed against her.

With a smile, she kissed the top of the dog's head and fell asleep, praying she wouldn't have nightmares. Two hours later, her screams echoed in the empty house.

* * *

><p>[1] Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, J.K. Rowling (book and movie)<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

Soundtrack: I talk to rain from Tsubasa Chronicles

* * *

><p>Snape's Paws<p>

Two

Snape's breathing was labored as he limped into the bushes, his back burning. What had possessed him to change into his Animagus form was beyond him. He slowly sank into the freezing snow and lay there; he was tired. His stomach growled but he ignored it, laying his head down on his front paws.

He fell asleep.

The Death Eaters had taken him as he was exiting Spinner's End near the end of August and held him in some cellar. They bound him, disarmed him and beat him until he passed out; each time they brought him back to consciousness to beat him again. They had managed to reopen most of the wounds on his back and nearly fracture his wrist; they took turns pissing on him and spitting at him.

He had waited until they got sloppy to charge; in a short burst, he had changed into a lanky black dog and escaped their clutches as he raced to the park. There had been a crack of thunder behind him—they had Apparated away.

Three days later, in the late afternoon, he sighed to himself and closed his eyes. _I can't believe this, _he muttered sourly as his stomach growled again. When was the last time he'd eaten? He glanced down at his side and was disgusted to find his ribs were sticking out. A pair of footsteps sounded and his head jerked up.

He let out a pitiful whine.

"I can't believe I'm so pathetic,"he grumbled as the leaves hiding him parted, revealing a flushed face. A girl stared down at him in surprise, her curly, wild hair framing her face. _Granger! _She crouched down in the snow and stroked the side of his snout; weakly, he snarled at her as he glowered up.

Softly, she began to whisper to him. "Ssh, you're gonna be just fine, baby." Gods, as if this wasn't humiliating enough, the little chit picked him up and stroked his underside. He squirmed and whined, turning his head away.

"Who did this to you, baby boy?" She was carrying him, stroking his head and sides softly and, although he hated to admit it, it felt nice. "You're a good boy," she said to him sweetly, stroking his ears softly. Reluctantly, he relaxed against her warm, soft breasts and listened to her heartbeat.

He breathed in her scent softly and was pleased to find she smelt of soap and light, very light but pleasant flowers.

"Here," she murmured as she set him down once they reached the inside of her flat. His legs buckled and he collapsed to the floor, the carpet tickling his sensitive nose.

The house's layout was simple: kitchen to the right of the foyer, a long hallway that split left and right, further down was an entertainment room. The walls were covered in light green wallpaper; the floors were padded with light beige carpeting. There were bookcases everywhere; there was a fire off to the left of the kitchen and, a few feet form the fireplaces, was a beat-up sofa and choppy-looking coffee table.

_Not bad, Granger, _Snape thought to himself as he got up and headed to the fireplace; getting warm was the Potions master's first priority. He could hear the young woman rattling around in the kitchen and lay down, exhausted, hungry, cold and agitated. Granger was talking non-stop so he glared at her as she bent down—dear Merlin, she looked very nice from that angle—and flipped on the fireplace.

She suddenly said something that made him freeze. "You haven't by chance seen a tall, thin man with long black hair, a sour expression and black eyes, have you?" He stared at her and _willed _her to understand him. _He _was _Snape! _But she shook her head and set down two bowls. He ate slowly and drank little.

"He's very important to me," she was saying as she peeled off her damp socks. They stank of dirty snow and sweat; he sneezed several times. She shimmied off her sweatshirt to reveal an off-the-shower crop top that showed off her figure.

She wasn't tight-bodied like the women who swarmed Fred and George Weasley; she was soft and full-figured with a larger belly, soft curves and thigh thighs—the exact type of woman he loved to get his hands on.

Her hair, wild and curly, fell into her face and then she brushed it into a bun. "He was the bravest man I ever knew," she said softly, her voice hoarse with emotion. He huffed and rested his head between his paws.

"You're a really quiet dog," she said. He eyeballed the orange cat fur on her sweatpants with distaste. "You, mister, need a bath but that'll wait until your back gets better." He snorted and her eyes narrowed at him. "I have a cat," she muttered, pausing in petting him.

Snape resisted the strong urge to butt against her. He may have been stuck as a dog but he still had his dignity; er, well, what was left of it anyway. A new scent filled his nostrils and he tensed, watching the half-Kneazle slink around the corner.

The squash-faced cat gave him a suspicious look before walking closer. "Hello, Severus Snape," he told Snape. Snape gave a start. "You can understand me?" he choked out. "Yes, animals can understand one another, regardless of species," explained Crookshanks calmly, yawning widely, showing off sharp incisors. Snape shifted as the Familiar stretched out beside him, pressed against his flank firmly.

"I used to have a dog." Snape rested his cheek on Granger's hand. "I'll call you Darcy." He had to agree; he fancied the name and thought it suited his nature rather well.

Granger muttered something before getting to her feet, pulling off her crop top. Snape couldn't control the way his eyes followed her as she disappeared down the hallway he'd seen in the foyer. "She'll be crying, no doubt," said Crookshanks, licking his paw.

Snape scowled.

"Why is that?" he asked. Crookshanks's yellow eyes eyeballed him. "Guilt, depression, and, probably, sorrow. She feels bad for your…condition. She also thinks she's too fat."

Snape licked his lips. "I can assure you, your Mistress is not too fat. She's curvy, the kind of woman, I have to admit, that I'd pursue but…I wasn't even outside for less than ten minutes before getting kidnapped," Snape explained quietly, turning his head to the fire.

It danced and leapt, heat sinking into his chilled skin.

Crookshanks got to his feet and plopped down in front Snape's face. "My Mistress cares for you, whether you believe it or not. When she brought you home, she'd been looking for the human Snape for more than three hours." Snape's eyebrows rose.

"The Gryffindor princess was looking for the Bat of the Dungeons?" Snape mumbled, feeling too shocked to say much else. The cat licked his shoulder. "She's beautiful, a rare beauty…" Crookshanks meowed when Granger appeared, dressed in a Slytherin-green towel, her hair wet and dark against her skin. Her eyes looked rimmed with red and he could smell tears on her face.

She turned off the fire, nudged the animals to their feet, and headed down the hallway. "I sleep on her extra pillow," said Crookshanks as they entered her bedroom; Snape stopped mid-stride to stare at Granger.

Her skin was marred with scars. Her thighs, her arms were scratched up as she wiggled into a pair of black panties. She was curvy, with plenty of cushioning, thick, strong thighs and large, full breasts. She wasn't wearing a bra and he could see the stretch marks on her breasts and hips and stomach.

He never wanted to be human so much more than in that moment; he ached to feel her soft skin on his calloused hands. She reached into the top drawer and he caught a glimpse of scars underneath the underside of her breast. He felt hot all over, knowing she didn't know it was him and scowled when she pulled on a lost t-shirt.

"See, Darcy," Granger was saying when she showed him a picture—of _himself! _In human form, of course.

He hadn't been aware and was grading lazy papers with his infamous red quill, wearing his reading glasses (no one knew about them) to help read the horrible handwriting, his robes thrown onto the back of his recliner.

He looked very naked and, dare he say it, normal without his robes.

"He was, quite honestly, the most brilliant man I ever had the pleasure of meeting," she whispered, stroking the side of his face—was that adoration in her eyes? And why was she _smiling _at that damned picture of him? He was the Bat of the Dungeons!—and then she returned it to the dresser.

He let out a frantic bark, hoping to catch her attention but all she did was glare at him as Crookshanks to his spot on the pillow, smiling down at Snape. "Come on, she doesn't bite…that I know of," purred the cat with an amused tone.

Mindful of his back, Snape clambered up onto the bed—the damned thing nearly sucked him in like some sponge—and curled up against her stomach. Her lips brushed his nose and then she was asleep.

He couldn't sleep the entire night. Why did she have a picture of him? When had she given herself those scars? Would he ever be able to court her? Seeing as it was five in the morning, he decided to try to sleep.

Her screaming rang in the hollow house.


	3. Chapter 3

Snape's Paws

Three

She was having a nightmare and nearly whacked Snape in the face as she flailed, kicking away the blankets. Her legs gleamed under the moonlight with sweat; she stank of it, actually.

"Granger?" he asked tentatively as Crookshanks sank down beside him. "She can't hear you," said the cat while licking his mistress's fingers, "she has these every night. Once or twice, she'll wake up to vomit. A few times she's messed herself." The young woman threw back the covers and ripped off her damp gown.

Her underwear was soaked and the fabric reeked of urine. "They're frightening to the point of being unable to control her bladder." Snape looked away from the cat's knowing eyes—he probably knew that Snape had know n the feeling too many times as a side effect of the Cruciatus while he Seizured—and watched her dart into the bathroom, slamming the door. Retching was heard and soft crying followed. The water kicked on, pipes rattling and whining; she continued to cry and sob.

He wanted to comfort her, despite the fact she was annoying as hell, but couldn't figure out how. He stared at the door, willing for her to appear. "Let her cuddle you," suggested Crookshanks. Snape let his lip curl at the idea but was secretly pleased; he had wanted to brush her as long as he could remember.

The bathroom door opened and she stepped out, nude. She was beautiful, her body glistening, free of any hair or signs of her horrible nightmare; her hair was damp and fell around her face in damp curls. Her nipples swelled in the cold air of the room and she slid into a pair of black, flannel pajamas before slipping back into the bed.

He whined and inched closer until he was pressed up against her soft, curvy form. She wrapped her arms around him and sniffled, burying her face in his chest. He nuzzled her hair, wanting so very much to be human and stroke her hair.

"I'm sorry I woke you," she whispered, her body shifting against him. His cock was rock hard as her soft thighs rubbed against his side. Hermione smelt wonderful, light and airy; he preferred her scent to the heavily-perfumes he inhaled at the school on a daily basis from his female students.

"You're a good boy, Darcy," she whispered, kissing his forehead. He let his tail start to thump. When he lifted his head, she was laughing so hard, there were tears in her eyes. But she was smiling and, by God's grace, she gorgeous.

Her entire face glowed and he wanted to stroke her cheeks, see if they were as soft as they looked; her smile was white and slightly crooked and reeked of the spearmint toothpaste and mouth was she probably used; and she was relaxed against his side.

She stroked his ears until he was a puddle of goo and he couldn't deny it felt amazing; his ears, as a human, were extremely sensitive to the touch as well so he hardly touched them. "I just hope Severus is alright," Hermione whispered into his neck. He tensed for a split second as he remembered who he was.

He wasn't Darcy, the injured stray Hermione had taken in; he was Severus Snape, Animagus, Dumbledore's spy, Potions Master…ex-Death Eater. He let her stroke his face but detached himself with Occlumency from the pleasant sensations.

He thought hard about his human form. He was thin, not to the point of disgust but naturally so; he was pale as parchment; his hair was lanky and oily from the fumes he worked over day after day; his teeth were crooked; his voice was probably the only thing decent about him. He was tall, freakishly so; he was about to Hagrid's shoulder. He was scarred beyond belief.

His personality was even more off-putting than his appearance. He was snippy and "cranky all the time" as Minerva had called him on more than one occasion; he was anti-social and hated people. He was cold, mean and sadistic. He was evil, disgusting and pathetic.

He watched the angel beside him, her eyelashes casting soft, blurred shadows across her cheeks, her pink mouth parted slightly in relaxation; her hair fanned around her like a damp halo.

She had an arm and a leg thrown over him; his back had healed surprisingly well in the few hours he had been there. She slept peacefully. He rolled to his side and then kicked away from her.

Crookshanks watched him.

"She doesn't know, does she?" said the cat. Snape shook himself and scratched the blankets until he felt satisfied before settling down. He met the cat's yellow eyes. "What do you think?" he asked sourly as he laid his head on his paws. The cat yawned and stretched out his back. "You're going to turn back eventually," Crookshanks replied as he settled down in the crease between the two pillows. Hermione rolled onto her back and let out a snore.

Snape shook his head.

"I know. And I have no idea what I'll do when I do," Snape mumbled, closing his eyes. He was half asleep when Crookshanks spoke again. "I've always like you more than the redheaded idiot she chased after during fifth year," said the cat, licking his paws. Snape narrowed his eyes. "Weasley is a complete dunderhead; although his brothers, the twins, are very much talented with explosive devices like fireworks."

"They have their own shop." To be honest, Snape was half-listening. "You'd make a good match for Hermione." Crookshanks gave Snape a sly look. "Me? And her?" Snape gasped out, his face warming.

If a dog could blush, he certainly would be. "That's absurd. I'm nothing but vile and dark and cold and she's light and innocent and warm…we would never work. I'd smother the light that she has."

Crookshanks shrugged and curled up to sleep; Snape stared at Hermione until his eyelids drooped. Satisfied with his lack of thought, he lowered his head and fell asleep.

_You'd make a good match for Hermione. _


	4. Chapter 4

Snape's Paws

Four

It had been four weeks since Hermione took him in. They fell into a routine that came natural to him after being cooped up with the young girl; in the mornings, she'd wake up at five to go for a jog and bring him along; afterwards, she'd shower while he ate his breakfast and warmed her slippers with his body heat. She'd be dressed, cook herself breakfast and be out the door, working as a part-time editor of a big Muggle newspaper.

For most of the afternoon, Snape never felt uneasy or bored—except today. At five o'clock every day, Hermione walked through the door…except today. Snape paced worriedly and watched the door, listening closely for the smell of her light floral lotion and mint mouthwash. Crookshanks sat by the door, watching through the baywindow, his bushy tail swaying form side to side.

"Where is she?" growled Snape as he snapped his jaws at the door, anxious and very angry. He liked routine and hated when it was disturbed. Crookshanks slanted his eyes down at the man-turned-dog. "Perhaps she got held up in traffic," mused the Familiar. The attempt at a joke didn't deserve the dirty look it got.

The doorknob turned and Hermione stumbled in, latched onto a man with long, black hair. From his vantage point, Snape could see the resemblance to his human form; long stringy black hair fell nearly to the man's shoulders and was very oily.

Snape snarled and began to bark at the man; how dare he barge into their home and try to take his woman? He lunged at the man's shins and Hermione stumbled away from the stranger, reaching down for Snape; Snape snarled and snapped at her fingers.

"Darcy!"

Snape head butted the man and he stumbled into the door; Hermione was awake now, sober, and was trying to pull Snape off. "Darcy! GET OFF SEVERUS!" she shrieked as she pried Snape away from the man. Both males stared at her in shock.

"My name is Richard,"

_And my name_ is _Severus_. Snape stared up at Hermione as the man pushed back his hair and pulled away from her. "Ah, the old substitute for what you can't have. I'm afraid, Miss Granger, I won't be able to substitute for this…Severus…you speak of; I am Richard and will not settle for a woman who doesn't want _me _as myself. Good night, Miss Granger."

Richard turned and lightly stepped out, leaving the door ajar. Snape stared at the man's long trench coat flapping in the breeze, imagining sinking his teeth into those ankles and hearing him squeal in pain. "Damn dog," Hermione grumbled, her cheeks rose-red and eyes gleaming with the promise of tears.

"Well," meowed Crookshanks. Snape's ears swiveled towards the cat's nasally voice; he'd forgotten the damn thing was there. "For someone who doesn't want her, you sure are protective."

"Of course I am!" argued Snape, "Since I am a dog, I have a dog's instincts. One of them being to protect his home from unwanted strangers, such as _Richard-I'm-too-good-for-Hermione_." Snape missed the way the cat grinned and mimicked his speech because Hermione had closed the door and Snape realized how much she had needed that…and he ruined it.

Shoving away his dignity, he slinked close to her and rubbed his neck against her leg, feeling the trembling there. He whined quietly, not really wanting her to be upset because of him. She walked away, swiped up the phone and began to punch some buttons. Snape watched her curiously; whom would she call at such an hour?

"Hey, Pansy, it's me. You know Richard, right?" She disappeared down the bedroom hallway and he stayed out in the living, knowing she wouldn't want him to follow, sitting there, watching the black depths of the lightless hall.

"I think you're getting attached to her in ways you never thought possible," said Crookshanks from his perch on the fridge top, licking his paws calmly. "What the hell are you talking about?" the dog snarled sharply, his face warming at the idea of the two of them, kissing, hugging…

"She wouldn't want me anyway. She hasn't seen me in the dark of night, covered in blood and bruised, covered in someone _else's _blood because of the—" "That was four years ago, Sevvy." An angry glare made the cat smile more. "Don't call me that!" he snapped. "_Sevvy." _

Snape really wished he had hands to strangle the damned animal. He turned away when he heard a sharp, wheezy laugh and decided to leave the cat to his insanity. He trotted down the hallway, his claws clicking, listening to her talking to Pansy.

"I really need to get laid," groaned Hermione as she changed into a simple t-shirt and pink, little-girl-frilly panties. Her t-shirt had a zombie unicorn on the chest and she had her hair in a ponytail, her face red with laughter.

"Hey, guess who's here? Darcy!" She set down the phone, put it on speakerphone, and picked him up. His face pressed against her full, braless breasts and he squirmed, embarrassed as his body reacted.

"That's it! I'm coming over; we're having a sleep over!" There was a click of Pansy ending the call and then Hermione was staring at him with wide eyes, her face turning redder by the second.

"What? Do you think I'm some female dog? Is that why you have a little…okay, not so little…situation going on?"

He tried to squirm out of her grasp but she simply plopped him down on the bed and lay down. "I mean, guys don't think I'm attractive so how can you?"

Her nipples were hard against her t-shirt and he filed away the sight for when he was human; she had no idea _how _attractive she was. She looked so flawless: her hair spilling out of the ponytail, one leg over the other, smooth and long and sexy, the edge of her lace panties peeking out of the hem of her t-shirt, her shirt hanging off one shoulder.

The door slammed open and in walked Pansy, dressed in a t-shirt and jeans and hiking boots. Over her shoulder was a duffle bag that had paw prints all over it and tons of key-chains.

"Hermione, who's—" She was staring at him and he was staring at her. "Jesus! Put on some pants! You can't dress like that in front of him!" Pansy said sharply. "Huh?"

"Don't you know who this _is_?"

Hermione's eyebrows furrowed. His friends—the Malfoys mainly and Remus and Sirius—knew of his Animagus form so it wasn't surprising that Pansy—Pansy knew. He felt his heart skip a beat.

"That dog is Severus Snape, Hermione!"

That dog was out of the fucking bag.


	5. Chapter 5

Snape's Paws

Five

"Pansy, you're crazy. Severus isn't an Animagus," Hermione said, staring at the dog with apprehension. Darcy was staring at Pansy with a look akin to annoyance then he turned and trotted out the door, appearing once more and holding a pencil; he disappeared out the door again and returned with a scrap of paper.

Sitting down, he bent his head, pressed the tip of the pencil to the paper and began to write with his paws holding the paper down and the pencil in his mouth. Hermione crept back until she found her pajama pants and slid them on, feeling very naked and violated.

"Animagus or Muggle dogs can't write, Hermione," Pansy pointed out with a smug look. Darcy dropped the pencil, carefully picked up the paper with his teeth, and padded to Hermione, shaking the paper at her.

_I am Severus Snape. _

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked quietly. "Hermione, he couldn't," Pansy said softly. "You've been _him _the _entire _time…I told you—" Hermione stopped, feeling the blood in her veins turn icy as she realized everything she'd told him. "Get out," she told him, her voice soft. "Please…just get out, Severus."

He gave her a look that she couldn't decipher before he slinked away, low to the ground and she tried not to cry until he was gone. "I told him I was in love with Severus, I told him everything that you know about me!"

There was a loud crashing and then Crookshanks came sprinting into the room, yowling. She stared at the door, feeling her entire body prickle and her muscles grew weak as she noticed the quiet presence—a quiet, _male _presence. She got to her feet and peeked out the door, heart beating frantically in her chest as she saw a glimpse of him, pulling on a black button-up, the criss-cross of deep, angry-looking scars on his back making her cringe.

"Sev—Snape?" Hermione called out. He paused for a moment, his entire body tensed up before he continued dressing, pulling on a black sweater and adjusting the collar. "I'm sorry for misleading you, Miss Granger. I had no intention of invading your privacy…"

He wouldn't look at her, like she was suddenly ugly to him now that she knew the truth; he pulled his hair away from his face and his piercing eyes met hers. How could she have not _seen _it?

"I will not bother you with my presence anymore. Goodbye…Hermione." He met her eyes and they looked cold, his hands tensed and balled in fists. With a crack like thunder, he Apparated away and Hermione was left alone in her living room, Crookshanks sitting at the spot where Severus had lain, bony and cold from the snow; the cat's yellow eyes stared at her sadly and if he could've spoken, he would've said, "I miss him."

_With Severus_

He landed in his home, a quiet apartment near Muggle London. At once, the stillness hit him like a wave and the air smelt like death, cold and bleak and lifeless, not at all like her house, of warmth and life and cozy. He stared at the clean, modern but dark interior and felt the pit in his stomach coil tighter.

He hung his cloak on the peg by the door and unlaced his boots. "Sheila," he said in surprise when his Familiar appeared, a lean, striped cat with a burn on her left eye and a crumpled leg, in the doorway, her mismatched eyes watching him. "I'm home." She padded closer and than lunged, seeming to be very happy that he was home.

_I missed you very much, Severus. _

He smiled softly, stroking the soft fur and scratching her under the chin. She purred like a motorboat and he held her in his arms, scratching under her chin as he kicked off his shoes and headed down to his room.

"I know, Sheila." She batted his hair away like a kitten and then squirmed out of his arms, racing around the room with her tail in the air. He smiled softly as he slipped off his sweater and was in the midst of unbuttoning his shirt but froze when he felt several sharp in his arms.

He looked down and traced the faded scars. _What's wrong, Severus? _He sighed and flopped back on the bed, lifting up his left arm and glaring at the ugly, black Mark. He draped it over his closed eyes and drifted off to sleep, halfway dressed, his mind on Hermione.

**Five months later**

_With Hermione_

Staring blankly at the picture. She'd been doing that for days straight in her free time. Instead of drawing or playing her guitar, she sat at her coffee table with the fire roaring and stared blankly at that damned photo.

_I'm sorry for misleading you, Miss Granger. _

_I never meant to invade your privacy. _

She sighed and slowly rose from the chair, cradling the empty baseball mug her father had given her for her nineteenth birthday. "I miss him," she said to the air. The dust was still as it passed through a slant of sunlight and she stared at it.

Crookshanks butted against her legs and she stumbled, the cup dropping from her hands. She watched the shards space apart in her hands, pieces of a gift from her father, pieces of that smiling baseball player, shards of the bubblegum bubble…

She began to cry and fell to the floor, her chest aching, a dull pain that hadn't left since he stepped out of her life, an ache that filled her days with dread of sleeping because the dreams were there, always there, where they kissed and held each other and he smiled—he looked so beautiful when he did—

Crookshanks nudged her legs and pawed them but her mind was reeling, images of them—him—Severus Snape, of Darcy, of his dark eyes—flickering back and forth. First he was Severus Snape, looking quiet and pale and gentle at his trial, gauze around his neck as they told him he should've been sentenced to Azkaban, his façade of calm remaining…then it was Darcy, the lanky mutt she found outside her apartment, his dark eyes staring up at her in that moment she pried apart the bushes…

_They had the same eyes. _How had she not noticed?


	6. Chapter 6

Warning: OOC Sanpe and Hermione, attempt at humor.

Snape's Paws

Six

Snape carefully tied back his waist-length hair and buttoned the cuffs of his shirt, adjusting his dragon-hide apron over his chest and legs. The front door bell jingled. He tied the strings in the back and made his way passed the meticulously organized shelves full of ingredients. He was fixing the jars along the back wall when he caught sight of the reflection in the mirror.

The woman was rather short, with a plump figure and long, straight honey-colored hair but there was no mistaking it; that was Hermione Granger at his apothecary counter. She was dressed in a black tanktop and pleated red-and-black plaid skirt, from what he could see, and she didn't seem to notice him either, doubled over her wrinkled notepad, mouthing ingredient names.

"May I help you, Miss?" he asked with an air of calm but inside his heart was pounding and he was grateful for the dragon-hide apron covering his lower half. "Yes, I'm looking for Fluxweed Seeds and Unic—" She had looked up from her dingy pad and froze, hand stopping short of tucking her straightened hair behind her shoulder and her mouth went slack.

Hours crawled by before she finished her sentence. "—Unicorn hair…" she continued weakly and he could see the anger blazing in her brown eyes, the hurt hiding somewhere in the depths of the flecks of honey and cinnamon.

"Hello, Snape." She sounded gravelly and congested. Her nose was red, now that he studied her, and her face was slightly shiny with sweat. Her hair was damp at the temples and stuck to her face in curls; she looked better with curls anyway. She looked healthy, enough, he mused as he stared at her.

She was as short as ever, with a plump, cushiony body that made his slacks tight and a plump bust, just barely peeking out of her sweater's V-necked collar; her skin was a bit tanner than the last time he saw her and she had grown and painted her nails blue, a sky blue that made him think of the winter sky. Her face was round and her cheeks were red; there wasn't an ounce of gauntness like he had.

Considering the last time they had met, she looked very well off. "How are you?" she asked and her voice trembled slightly on the last word, like she was trying hard to keep things together in front of him.

"I'm fine." He flashed her a casual smile and he could hear her breath hitch. "As you can see, I've started my own apothecary." She murmured something under her breath. "And how much?"

"Oh! Um…five drams of Fluxweed Seed and sixty grains of Unicorn hair." She still nibbled on the ends of her hair like she did before, her eyes watching him like prey as he bagged her items. "Five sickles and thirteen knuts," he told her, meeting her eyes. "How are you, Miss Granger?" he asked softly.

She had been searching through her change purse but froze. Her eyes fluttered shut. "I'm fine." "No you're not," he told her quietly, meeting her eyes. "How do _you _know how I feel?" she snapped. "Because someone important—or should I say prominent in my life—walked away from me and I've been through what you're going through," he explained in a calm voice.

His heart ached at the thought of his mother passing as he rested his hand on top of hers. "Miss Granger—" "Hermione." He gave her a furrowed look but said no more about the first-name basis. "_Hermione_, if you ever wish to speak with me or just have my company…this is my card. It has my mobile number and address on it. It's Untracable and Unplotted. Please do not share it with anyone. I already had to deal with vandals at my childhood home." He knew this was unprofessional but he couldn't care less; he tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and watched her cheeks darken.

"I'm not going to _ever _wish to speak with you. You stepped into the little Gryffindor Princess's private life and thought it would be funny to observe her, to violate her privacy." Her face was red and her eyes were glittering. "Hermione, when an Animagus is injured severely, to the point where they can hardly walk on their own, they can't revert back to their human—"

"Shut your mouth, Severus. I know you wanted to humiliate me, violate my privacy. I told you…I told you I loved you…" She sniffled once and wiped her nose on her hand. "…I still do…" She threw down the change and walked away, the hand holding the card to her chest like a precious toy.

He watched her heart-shaped bum from behind for a moment before turning to his next customer. "Popular with Hermione, aren't you, Snape?" asked a nasally voice. Snape rubbed his forehead and sighed. "She'll be the death of me, Weasley."

"But you'll die with a smile on your face," answered the red-head teacher, his hand already sliding his money across the counter. His hair was curly as ever, sticking up in certain places, and he'd possible gotten more freckles over the years; his water-blue eyes made Snape a bit unnerved, to be truthful. It was like he could see all of Snape's thoughts, which was, in truth, really creepy.

"How's Lavender?"

"She's fine. She loves staying at home with Caitlyn and Micah. Are you coming to their birthday party?" Ron asked as he took the bag of raven feathers. Snape was surprised how much more mature and tolerable twenty-three-year-old Ronald Weasley was compared to seventeen-year-old Ronald Weasley.

Ronald, Sprout and several other customers came and went and the sun slowly sank behind the horizon line. Snape slipped off his apron and glared down at his erection, willing it to wilt or something. "Why don't you go down?" he asked angrily to his testicles as he hung up the apron, pieces of his hair slipping out of his ponytail.

Mindful of his erection, Snape closed up shop and waddled home, uncomfortable and his mind on a curly-haired witch wearing a cute skirt that showed off her heart-shaped bum.


	7. Chapter 7

Snape's Paws

Seven

Hermione couldn't believe the nerve of him! How dare he act like nothing had happened? Like he hadn't invaded her privacy and watched her for those long weeks? In the guise of a damn mutt, nonetheless!

She fumed over her scotch on the rocks as Narcissa stroked her hair soothingly; over the years, she'd grown closer with Narcissa, Pansy and several other Slytherin girls. "I can't believe the nerve of him!" she hissed angrily, her hands clenching and unclenching.

She really wished he were here so she could punch him in the face. She downed her scotch and felt it burn down her throat; tears blurred her eyes at the intense, prickling heat the drink left behind.

When she called for another drink, Narcissa shook her head, blonde hair tickling Hermione's cheek. "You shouldn't drink so much," mused the Slytherin woman, silvery eyes fixed on Hermione's figure. Hermione shifted.

She knew she wasn't willowy like Ginny and Narcissa or curvy like Daphne or Astoria but there was something about the look in Narcissa's eyes that made the Gryffindor Princess nervous; it was like she could see through Hermione's old fisherman's sweater and knee-length skirt.

"A makeover," breathed the blonde suddenly. Her breath was sweet like mints. Or maybe it was the gum that she'd been chewing all night. A burst of laughter made Hermione wince as pain pounded through her brain. "What?"

"A makeover. Get you new clothes that don't make you look like a boy. Fix up your hair." Narcissa's grinning face made the girl nervous. "I'm not really—" "Harry will be there." Ever since Harry and Draco got married, she hadn't been able to see either of them without the screaming babies. "Fine." She dug around in her pocket to find some change, threw it down, and slammed down her last scotch of the night.

Bleary-eyed, she turned to Narcissa and said, in a raspy voice, "I better not regret this." The older woman's grin spelled trouble in all caps.

oOo

The aroma of coffee and sweet treats made Hermione relax as Narcissa plotted ways to tame Hermione's wild hair with Pansy over scones. "I want cookies," Harry said, his bright green eyes staring pointedly at the sweets display under the counter. "I'm going with him."

Snatching up her purse, the witch weaved through the moderately busy crowd and caught up to the young man. "Triple chocolate chip, 'Mione. Did you know they made them?" When he looked up at her, she was struck by how child-like he was. Laughing, she messed up his hair. "No," she admitted as she tried to figure out which sweets—and not how many calories were in each—she wanted. "I'll pay. Do you think the girls want some?"

A quick glance over her shoulder at Pansy, Narcissa, Astoria, Millicent said no.

"Excuse me," muttered a voice behind her as someone bumped into her. "Oh, hey," Harry said with a big grin and Hermione turned. Heat rushed to her cheeks as she stared up at Snape. His hair was brushed into a ponytail and he wore a simple grey shirt tucked into his black jeans.

Hermione noted he had wiry muscles but still, his arms weren't that scrawny. She really wouldn't mind him crushing her against his chest or holding her against a wall—A sharp shake of her head dispersed the silly little lust-ridden thoughts from her brain. Clearing her throat, she ordered her sweets, Harry ordered several and she paid. "It's good to see you," the Boy Who Lived continued happily, taking a bite of his cookie.

Snape made a sound as Hermione bit into a brownie. There were hints of sharp spice, like peppers or something, and it was very sweet. She turned her head towards the table and felt Snape's eyes on her—or, more precisely, her bum.

"Hermione, we figured out what to do. First—oh, hello, Severus." Pansy kept her voice politely pleasant. "Hello, Miss Parkinson." He reached over Hermione's head—she saw his Dark Mark, that horrible gaunt skull and flickering snake moving—and took his coffee cup. Something flickered in his eyes and his mouth tightened in a displeasured line at her.

"It was nice seeing you." Snape turned and walked towards the door; Hermione took the opportunity to admire his butt.

"I want to talk to you about something." Harry scampered after the Potions Master and Pansy whistled through her teeth, her slanted eyes fixed on the two men's backs. "The sexual tension is almost too thick," she mused. Hermione choked viciously on her bite of brownie.

"What the hell—"

A smirk rose on the dark-haired woman's lips. "Don't deny it," she snickered, "everyone knows you two have got the hots for each other." The only answer Hermione gave was cramming the rest of her brownie into her mouth and strutting back to the table with her head held high.

Pansy chuckled behind her.

oOo

"Ow!" Hermione shrieked as the comb yanked at her thick, curly hair. "Are you sure this is going to work?" she asked, very close to tears.

Millicent nodded. "It's what I do to my hair," said the mixed girl, tugging at a strand of curly black hair. "Okay." Hermione settled back into the chair and made a minimum of two attempts to run out of the house to cry for several weeks.

Millicent was combing through her wet hair, adding some hair curling gel to help the frizz and overall mass of her hair. "Thank you guys for doing this," Hermione whispered, feeling tears prickle her eyes.

Pansy grinned as she painted Hermione's toenails black and red. "Don't worry. You'll get that tight piece of tail in no time!" Hermione choked on her saliva while laughing and Daphne shrieked in joy.

Daphne and Astoria were going through Hermione's wardrobe, throwing out anything they didn't like. Which meant basically everything Hermione felt comfortable wearing in public. "I just want to feel pretty," Hermione explained quietly, trying to keep the cheer in her voice as she remembered her scars and plushy body. "You are, honey," said Millicent as she kissed Hermione's forehead.

Although Millicent was a lesbian, Hermione knew it was a maternal kiss and let the girls fix her up. Hopefully, she didn't look like Barbie Gone Horror Movie.

She was _really _in trouble, especially when Narcissa came in with bags of bras and panties and stockings.

"Let the makeover officially begin!"


	8. Chapter 8

Suggested soundtrack: Stupid Intruders- The vincent Black Shadow

The House of Tasteful Men-The Vincent Black Shadow

* * *

><p>Snape's Paws<p>

Eight

Severus sneered at his reflection and relaxed when his reflection sneered back. He was the same physically; mentally, he wasn't quite sure.

He was _attracted _to Hermione Granger—_Granger _of all people! He'd noticed it during third year when she began to fill out, particularly in the hip and stomach area. He watched her grow up from a gangly, bushy-haired girl who was a damn walking encyclopedia to a bushy-haired, curvy young woman who knew she was smart but wasn't a know-it-all.

Before, he'd thought she was simply an intelligent brainy little girl; but beauty _and _brains was something that was hardly common. Most girls of twelve didn't know how to correctly brew Polyjuice, even if it _did _turn her into a damn anthropomorphic cat-girl. He watched as she grew in beauty and intelligence, in wisdom and maturity before many of her peers even noticed she was a girl.

Behind him, he saw Draco enter his rooms and turned halfway, eyeballing his godson's partner. One Harry Potter, complete with tousled black hair, the lightening scar, and his mother's green, green eyes. "Hello," Harry said pleasantly as Lily's eyes met black ones.

"Hello, Harry," replied Snape with a nod. "Narcissa got a hold of Hermione," Lily's son said quietly, squeezing Draco's hand. Snape's head whipped around so fast, he nearly gave himself. His stomach coiled into a knot at the _thought _of Narcissa Malfoy sinking her talons into such sweet, succulent flesh like Hermione; he turned on his heel and stalked towards the young man.

Draco let out a snort of laughter that he barely smothered with his hand. Snape stopped, bouncing on the balls of his heels, feeling the tension in his shoulder bunch up. All his anger slid into his muscles and wound tight in his thighs as he tried to still himself.

His hands shook slightly so he crossed his arms behind his back, clenching his jaw tight enough to crack his molars. "She said something about it being girls night," mused his godson, staring at Snape through long, pale lashes, silvery eyes gleaming with mischief.

The ex-Death Eater felt his nostrils flare as he watch Harry cross the room, hand-in-hand with Draco. How _dare _they touch what was _his_? He was seething with anger that she'd attempt to alter her appearance but froze suddenly when it dawned on him. She wasn't his. Never had been.

Some of the anger drained out of him and his hands fell limp at his hips. He closed his eyes. "I need a drink," he said quietly. He could feel his godson smirking.

"Good. We brought Firewhiskey."

SS•HG

The dancefloor made Snape nervous, twitchy. Anxious. He glowered out at the giggling girls trying to get him to dance with them. He felt blurry, out of sorts. The cherry-scented fog was making everything creepy and he felt his hands twitching for his wand. How on _earth _did he let Harry and Draco drag him here?

"Hello," whispered a familiar voice. He turned his head to the side and his jaw dropped, the light, bleary fuzz of alcohol clearing immediately. The witch before him was curvy and very voluptuous and pretty, with big, milk chocolate eyes and long, curly honey-brown hair. Her skin was golden and, under the strobe lights, he saw a smattering of freckles across her face.

She wore a tight, red halter top that hugged her breasts very deliciously and a tight, gold skirt that hugged her hips in a very nice way and she teetered on sky high heels. Her arms jangled with golden bracelets.

The minute he turned to her, her mouth went slack and her eyes went wide. "P-P-Pr-Professor?" she squawked and stumbled back, rocking dangerously in her high heels. His arm shot out and wound tight around her waist; she was pressed chest to knee against him and he could feel the heat of her skin, of her body, against him.

"Miss Granger?" he croaked, suddenly uncomfortable. He felt like a teenager all over again, his heart thumping as she wiggled out of his grasp, turned, ready to wobble away. He grabbed at her shoulder and he lost his breath when his skin touched hers; for several long, stretched-out minutes, all he could hear was Hermione, feel her silky skin against his, smell the sweet, clean scent on her.

He could hear her harsh breathing, panting, trying to remain calm. In her gorgeous eyes was a whirlwind of emotions he couldn't sort through; he could feel her trembling. She tried to pull away again, a little half-hearted before she gave up.

"Why are you dressed like _that_?" he rasped and her eyes darted down to his lips. He felt a surge of heat spike through him. "Like what?" she asked and her voice was so soft that he barely heard her over the music. Gripping her upper arm firmly, he led her to a dark, secluded corner reserved for couples looking for privacy and cast a few silencing charms.

The music vibrated through his feet.

"Like…like—" he stammered, his face warming when he glanced down to find she'd crossed her arms and was staring up at him expectantly. Apparently, she was waiting for him to continue. Unfortunately, his eyes strayed to the smooth skin of her breastbone and the way a light dusting of freckles covered her shoulders and arms. And the plush, inviting cleavage of her breasts. He stilled for a moment before she finished the sentence for him.

"Like a woman, Professor?" she asked and the disdain was clear in her voice; he felt himself shake slightly. "Y-yes—I mean no—I mean—" He was stumbling over his words like a teenager all over again, his heart thumping, the bass drumming against his eardrums. He felt heady and breathless.

"Believe it or _not_, Professor Snape, I _am _a woman now and I do want to look nice from time to time. Maybe even bring home a man, given that my so called dog doesn't try to bite the bloke's head off first," she hissed and the venom and disdain made him grow cold. He'd hurt her deeply, he realized abruptly, and an "I'm sorry, Granger. Please forgive me and go out with me" wasn't going to fix it.

He watched her for a moment before he made up his mind and leaned down, his mouth brushing the shell of her ear. She smelled clean, like soap, and of hot skin, warm soil, spring. He let himself indulge in breathing her in. "Miss Granger," he found himself saying in her eardrum, speaking in loud volumes to be heard over the music that was beginning to grind on his nerves, "Would you like to find somewhere quieter to speak?"

With the sting of Lily's rejection fresh on his tongue, he waited with bated breath.

He didn't expect her to eyeball him and reluctantly agree. He conjured a coat for her, shooting his famous death glares at the wandering eyes of many wizards, and escorted her into the brisk night air. _For a chat, _he told his crotch, which seemed to swell at the idea of such a plump, beautiful, intelligent witch coming home with him.

_Sure, _said the lust-ridden, schoolboy part of his brain, just _a chat. _He honestly wasn't quite sure it _was _going to be _just _a chat. Hopefully, he wouldn't be awkward and do something embarrassing, inappropriate or make her angrier than before.

_Hopefully_ being the keyword.


	9. Chapter 9

Soundtrack: Devil Take The hindmost (Reprise)-Love Never Dies, Andrew Lloyd Webber

* * *

><p>Snape's Paws<p>

Nine

The reading nook was quiet in the little cofee/bookshop Snape picked out for them to talk. He didn't dare let his thoughts wander to the girl behind him, staring at him like the monster he was, the old, perverted leech, preying on a girl half his age, so full of life and intellegence, an _ex-student _nonetheless. He ordered a very strong cup of coffee for himself and a light tea for Miss Granger along with confectionary sweets.

When he turned back, her dark chocolate eyes met his, never straying, very bold. Biting his cheek, he walked back to her and set the tea in front of her. "I want to apologize, Miss Granger," he murmured. She snorted into her tea and he found it sounded very unlike her normally polite self. Maybe it was her newfound sex appeal.

"I…I never thank you properly," he said in a wavering voice that made him cringe. "I want to take you to dinner." Her eyes narrowed into distrusting slits as she went still, like a statue. Her knuckles were white as she set down her cup very slowly and spoke. Her lips glimmered with shiny lipgloss and he found it hard to focus on her words when all he wanted to do was lunge across the table and kiss her…ravage her…make her feel beautiful.

"You really think courting me is going to make everyhting disappear? Especially the fact that you took the guise of a mutt to sneak into my house, my sanctuary?" she growled, her voice deadly soft. All Snape's fantasies shattered viciously as her words hit him like a slap in the face. He jerked back in his chair, unable to speak. Her brown eyes were alive with anger and he thought he'd never seen anything so lovely, so full of life…

"No," he replied in an even quieter voice, letting his eyes stray down her plump figure. She was so beautiful and he wanted nothing more than to make her see, let his hands wonder those lovely curves of hers. He met her gaze, his resolve cementing. "I don't think courting you will fix anything. I did not intend to intrude on your privacy—"

"Like hell you didn't!" she snapped and sparks jumped around her hair. "Sit down," he hissed in his Teaching Voice and she shut up and her butt slapped into the seat hard enough to cause it squawk across the floor. Glowering at him, she bit her lip.

"—_As I way saying_, I never intended to invade your privacy. I was greatly injured and, being in Animagus form while injured, I couldn't revert back to human. Even after my back healed, I couldn't Turn." He stroked the rim of his cup tenderly, watching the steam peel away in whisps.

"I had no way of contacting Albus or Lupin or anyone. I was miles away from home," he continued, "with the one person who would surely hex me within an inch of my life if I turned back suddenly." The sparks slowly dribbled into nothing and she just sat there, cheek in her upturned hand, looking a bit calmer.

He really didn't need an expolosion of emotion-based magic destroying his favorite café. Hermione was quiet for the longest time and he was beginning to feel antsy, anxious. A nervous ball of dread churned in his stomach as he sipped his piping coffee and tried not to shake her and make her see…

"I want to work with you," she said abruptly. He blinked. Once. Twice. "What?" he asked. Hermione's determined eyes met Severus's confused ones. "I want to work on potions with you. Help you with your apothecary," she simpered, leaning back in her chair as she crossed her legs, watching him closely, taking a sip from her cup.

He then noticed the crumbs on her lips and that her hand was reaching for the plate in front of her, her black fingernails tap-tap-tapping. Searching. Just like her eyes, which never left his, never tried to move, just kept staring. He felt sweaty and uncomfortable.

"Why?" he croaked. Cleared his throat. While he was drinking his coffee, she gave him an answer. "It'll be a new experience. Fresh. Exciting," she replied, aving a hand through the air to flag down the barrista. "Can I have one of everything?" Hermione asked sweetly. The barrista, a girl with a scar on her nose and a lip ring, didn't even bat an eye. "The mint chocolate chip cookies are very good," she told the two, her voice very deep for a girl her age.

"He'll take some," Hermione chuckled, waving her hand at him almost flippantly. Anger buzzed through him, followed by surprise, and then, grudingly, respect. The girl he knew during school had left; this one had a backbone.

"Oh," she said, slamming forward to steady her chair and his eyes were glued to the way her breasts bounced. "About the whole 'courting me' thing," she purred and Snape nearly melted, "You're going to have to prove that you arne't a git. Aren't a stark bastard. Or a pervert who pretends to be dogs."

With that, Hermione bit into her cookie,, turned her head away from him and watched the night outside; he had the creeping suspicion that the conversation was over. He reached out and took a cookie; it was warm in his hand and he noticed the mint-blue chips in the brown sweet.

Sighing to himself, he bit into his cookie and found, just as the barrista had said, they were quite delicious. After she'd eaten her fill, Hermione buttoned up Snape's coat and waited by the door while he paid. He loved a woman who could eat but she devoured sweets like a glutton; it was almost amusing…until he saw the bill.

He was, by no means, poor but the price was ridiculious! Holding the door for her, Snape let his muscles relax as she brushed passed him, her curls tickling his jaw. "I will see you monday," she said matter-of-factly before she shook his hand.

Snape watched her Apparate away and then Apparated to Hogwart. On the walk to his quarters, his mind bounced from one place to another, images of Hermione as she walked into Hogwarts for six years fluttering and flashing behind his lids.

The sheets were cool against his nude body as he thought of her and closed his eyes.

Hermione Granger certainly was full of surprises.


	10. Chapter 10

Snape's Paws

Ten

Hermione's head was throbbing with a vengeance as she moped over a steaming cup of freshly brewed coffee the next morning. How could she have said those things to _him_? Moaning, she buried her face in her arms in hopes of shutting out the world and regretted making the noise as pain pulsed through her brain.

Damn. She took a tiny sip of black coffee and cringed as someone pounded on her door. Who the hell was up at—she squinted at the clock above the stove—at seven o'clock in the morning? On a Monday? Besides the entire working population.

Grumbling softly, she rose and the pounding grew even louder, making her head pound like it was trying to breakdance off her neck. Anger spiking dangerously, she yanked open the door and hissed, "What the hell do you want?" She was _not _expecting to see Severus Snape standing on her doorstep, dressed in a black sweater with his overgrown hair pulled back into a ponytail, looking immaculately not hungover.

"Shit," she groaned, wincing when the early morning sunlight pierced her eyes. She waved him inside and he slinked in, like a black shadow—an extremely sexy, sour-faced shadow.

"It's Monday," he said as she quietly closed the door behind and shuffled back to the kitchen table. "I know. Coffee?" she replied, feeling a tiny bit unprofessional and unsexy in her ratty pajama pants and tank top and no bra.

His eyes flitted to her chest. "Yes, if you will." He sat down gracefully as she made her way to the cabinet for cups.

"Two lumps of sugar, right?" she asked, reaching for a ceramic mug on the top shelf of her cookware cabinet. A moment of silence and then, "Yes. You didn't come in this morning for work." She swore. "I'm sorry. It—"

When she turned to him, he raised a slim, graceful hand. The image of him sitting there, hunched over her kitchen table, wearing Muggle clothes, talking to her about coffee nearly made her burst into hysterics. Was this a big, crazy dream?

"I figured you were…ill from intoxication so I brewed up Hangover Potion," he explained as he reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a little vial full of purple. She relaxed. "It seems my godson and Harry made fools of themselves last night," he went on casually as she set about pouring him coffee.

Hermione sat down gingerly, her headache threatening to tear her skull in two now as he handed her the phial. While he sipped patiently on his coffee, she threw back the contents with ease. Relief rushed through her as the headache abruptly stopped mid-pound.

"Thank you, Professor," she whispered as she plucked at her shirt, painfully aware of her lack of clothing. "I'll be right back. Make yourself at home."

The first she did was pull on a bra. Switching her pajama pants with jeans, she made her way to her wardrobe and pulled on a sweatshirt with her Muggle college logo. After rinsing out her disgusting morning breath and washing her face to get rid of the sticky sleep residue, she headed back down to the kitchen.

"Are you quite done?" he asked her, startling her as she hung in the doorway.

She jumped. "Yeah," she replied as she settled down at the table, feeling better, more human. "I'm sorry. I got drunk and the headache was killing me," she said quietly. He snorted.

"That's why I brought you the potion, Hermione," he said. "Now let's go." He stood and Hermione stepped close. "Where?" she demanded. He raised an eyebrow at her demand. "To my Apothecary, of course."

She was floored. He thought that after a night like _that_ that she was going to go lickety-split? She scowled at him. "I know I said Monday but I don't think I can do it today. What about tomorrow?" she said.

"So you're going back on your word?" Snape's eyebrows rose mockingly high. Hermione flushed. "No," she argued, "I'm jus thinking it's not a good idea." "Why?" He was in her face now, warm skin and hypnotic eyes. She shuffled back and slipped over the pant leg of her baggy jeans. He lunged and all she could see was his dark form coming at her, hard, fast.

Crookshanks darted into the room, yowling loudly as the Floo activated. "'Mione?" a woman's voice called.

Hermione cracked her eyes open and the breath rushed out of her lungs. Her ex-professor was above her, looking down worriedly almost and his black eyes filled up her vision like the starless, night sky.

"Hermio—oh." It was her mother's voice. "W-we—" Jean Granger was stammering absurdly, looking wide-eyed down at her daughter. "Hello, Mrs. Granger," Snape said.

Hermione was mortified.

oOo

Doctors David and Jean Granger sat on Hermione's worn sofa, sipping tea and eating biscuits while they apprehensively eyeballed the black-haired man beside Hermione.

"Hermione, dear," David began awkwardly, clearing his throat as he set down his saucer. Crookshanks hopped up onto the love seat and settled into Snape's lap, shooting the man a smug look.

Hermione bit into a biscuit to keep from laughing obnoxiously. "It's, ah, good to see you with a man," her father said and she wanted to crawl into the Veil and die. Her eyes widened in shock as she burst out, ignoring the spray of cookie crumbs, "Oh god! No! We aren't…it's not…"

Realizing everyone in the facility was staring at her like she'd gone bonkers, she shrank back and wiped her mouth with the inside of her forearm. "We aren't…he's my professor."

Jean's face went red. "Surely, now, Hermione, dear, this wouldn't be inspired by _Don't Stand So Close To Me _by the Police, would it? I know how much you adore that song—"

Snape, much to her shock, started laughing. Her cheeks were on fire as she moaned and hid her face in her hands. "I'm sorry, madame, but it's _nothing _like that." Hermione felt a jolt as he glanced at her, his eyes dark and alive and smoldering a hole into her soul as though he knew she'd had a fancy for him during her school years and listened to _Don't Stand So Close To Me _on repeat for weeks when she thought about him.

"I've offered your daughter a job at my Apothecary and, when she didn't show up, I came by to make sure she was okay. It isn't like her to be untimely."

Now she was wishing she was a cat…at least Crookshanks could walk away from this awkward, horrible conversation without being chastised.


	11. Chapter 11

I, much to my utter embarrassment and horror, completely forgot that I'd killed off Hermione's mom. So forgive me for my previous chapter. It slipped my mind. I fixed previous chapters and edited the last one; I don't use a beta but I fixed my Spell Check so no more horrendous mistakes. Again, I'm terribly sorry.

* * *

><p>Snape's Paws<p>

Eleven

David rubbed his palms on his knees as he stared at his only child and her professor.

The man sat on the cusp of his seat, looking very ready to flee at any moment or whip out his wand and hex him. He was sallow-skinned, with long, black hair and a large, beaky nose. He was dressed in a slimming black sweater and crisp black trousers; his trainers were black as well and a peek of white from underneath his sweater finished off the look. _At least he's not dressed in those wizard robes that I saw Hermione in at graduation, _David mused.

The professor had a graceful air about him but he seemed…dark, dangerous. The complete opposite of Hermione, who was light, lovely and harmless as a kitten—unless of course you angered her. _Then _she was a very scary witch who knew how to use her wand.

"So, um, Mr. Snape—" Jean began absently, her eyes flitting everywhere but the wizard. He held up a scarred hand. "Please, Madame, call me Severus. Mr. Snape was my—" His words faltered and for a second, he looked a bit ashen, like a plant left in the closet for days.

"—My father," he continued and his Adam's Apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. "I'm going to state the obvious," he said and David leaned forward, eyes narrowing. If this man harmed a hair on his daughter's head, he'd strangle him. With lots and lots of floss.

"Hermione and I are not in a relationship. I am her ex-professor, yes, but I don't—I don't date ex-students, regardless of how attractive I find them," Snape said and folded his hands in his lap, watching them with cold, gleaming eyes that of a predator, like a…a snake.

"Are you saying you find me _attractive_?" Hermione asked in a loud, shrill voice that grated on David's nerves as she turned to Snape with wide, alarmed eyes. He chuckled and David could see the amusement and a bit of worry in his eyes. They flickered for a second before they smoothed out, returning cold.

_Interesting, _thought the dentist as he watched the two of them interact. Snape relaxed, guard dropping as he taunted her; Hermione was snapping back at him, arms crossed, her foot hitting his leg as her eyes sparkled. David could see the adoration in Snape's dark eyes.

The lines around his severe face relaxed, like he was enjoying himself, teasing Hermione. The banter was refreshing, seeing as his daughter was a bit of recluse for a woman of her age.

"I think our visit needs to be cut short," Jean said abruptly and stood, sweeping crumbs off her skirt. David stood slowly, his bones creaking with age. At 45, he was old, ancient according to his friends. It didn't help that his wife was his junior by a decade and could move so easily, so fluid just like their daughter.

"What?" Hermione screeched as she shot up—her ample breasts bounced, David noticed, but Snape's eyes flitted down, lingered for a moment, and then returned to her face—and scrambled forward. "I have patients to attend to," David said lightly, watching Snape stand. The man was an imposing, towering figure, like the Grim Reaper.

"B-But—"

"Hermione, I believe it's best if we get going as well," Snape said in a silky voice that was, David hated to admit it, quite alluring and Hermione nodded solemnly. "Yes," she sighed and pushed her curls out of her face; David smiled at the familiar gesture. His little girl would always have those little habits, whether it was pushing her uncontrollable hair out of the way or the way she'd chew on the ends when she was nervous.

If she didn't have those habits, she wouldn't be his little girl. David stretched and felt his bones pop. "Damn," he said, laughing, "I'm getting old." "Hush!" Jean playfully backhanded his arm. He smiled as he wrapped his arms around Hermione, breathing in the coconutty scent of her curly hair.

"I love you," he said and kissed her forehead. When Jean moved in to hug her, David turned to Snape, who stood, closed off, guarded. He was dripping danger. "It was nice to meet you, Severus." Snape's dark eyes watched him like a hawk.

"You better take good care of my baby girl because, if you don't, I'm going to kick your ass."

Snape's eyes widened for a split second before his expression glossed over. His chin tilted up. "I have no such intentions of harming her. She…she's truly amazing," he said, his voice calm as David took notice in his rolled up sleeves. A black tattoo, very ugly, flashed at him, a glimpse of a withering snake and cackling skull. "Forgive me," Snape apologized smoothly, looking away at Hermione and her mother, twittering about something and laughing.

"I've got a few of my own tats," laughed David. Snape's solid eyes met his and he saw a regretful man, worn down by life, by his mistakes. "I'm not proud of it," he mumbled, head bowed like he was ashamed.

David clapped him on the shoulder in a paternal way and lowered his voice, glancing at his daughter, who was absorbed in her mother. "We all have done things we aren't proud of. Even an old, lame dentist like me." He made a laughing sound. "Well," he said rather loudly, turning to the twittering girls.

Hermione smiled up at him. "We better get going. Lots of root canals and dental checkups, yada, yada," David laughed and threw Snape a nod. The black-clad man nodded back. "It was lovely seeing you…and your boyfriend," Jean told Hermione as she kissed her daughter's cheek, leaving a stain of nude lipstick.

The witch snorted a laugh. "He's not my boyfriend," she said, face turning redder than cherry tomatoes at the summer spent in their woodland cottage.

_Not yet, _thought David as he wrapped an arm around his wife, Hermione grabbed a fistful of Floo powder and threw it in the fire.

_"Doctor Grangers' Office!" _he yelled as he stepped into the green flames. As he turned to wave goodbye, he saw Hermione poking Snape in the chest while he suppressed a smile and in his black, black eyes was adoration.

_He's completely smitten with her. _


	12. Chapter 12

Snape's Paws

Twelve

"More boomslang?" she asked, holding up the vial to the light. The potion simmered in the cauldron, gurgling on low heat; it was much too early to add it in.

Snape shook his head. "Not yet, Miss Granger," he told her, looking up from his Arithmacy problems to calculate the hours it would have to be left to sit in his cellar to watch her.

He'd helped her, reluctantly albeit, braid her hair down her back and used a super-strength leather band to keep it in place; getting ones overgrown hair in a potion, especially experimental ones, was never a good idea. In jeans and an old t-shirt, she hardly looked a day over seventeen but he'd suggested they were casual clothing; he was very lax about the dress code in his apothecary.

All his employees wore jeans and t-shirts they didn't care about getting dirty under their thick, dragon skin aprons.

"It'll have to sit for seventy-two hours, Severus," she told him, balanced atop her stool. Despite wearing such casual clothing, she looked very professional, if not approachable as a woman. Her face was warm and kind but her eyes were hard, like she'd been hurt too many times to let him in.

"After this," Snape said slowly, turning his attention back to the book as his scalp prickled with fear and apprehension, "would you like to have lunch with me? I know a very nice eatery with lovely club sandwiches." The only sounds for the longest time were his breathing, the scratching of his pen, and the bubbling of the potion. _Damn, _he thought as he controlled his breathing and squashed down the horrible feeling of rejection.

His hands were shaking slightly as he finished the equation (it was seventy-two hours, as Hermione had told him. Leave it to a know it all to calculate every damn thing in her head.) and slowly, carefully, closed the notebook. His cheeks were burning as he chanced a glance up. She'd gone still, a flickering of emotions flittering across her eyes.

"Go," he said softly, "You don't have to have lunch with me. I've got to restock anyway." It was a bullshitted lie; he'd just had an order come in and was well stocked but she didn't need to know that. Right now, he just needed to be alone and contemplate Hermione's guardedness.

He knew it had hurt her when she found out about him being a dog but he would never in a million years intentionally hurt her like that, invade her privacy and gain her trust and than shatter it.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

She shifted in her seat, looking down at her hands. "Lunch sounds lovely. You're paying though." He set aside his notebook and nodded as she extinguished the flames and he took the cauldron down to the cellar for a few days' worth of settling and cooling.

Sliding on his jacket, he flipped up the collar. "Don't you have a jacket?" he asked. She shook her head. "I forgot to bring one," she mumbled as he helped her off the stool. Where had all the guardedness gone?

Shrugging off his jacket, he placed it over her shoulders and ignored her protests. "I don't get sick," he told her with a tiny smile. "Don't get sick my ass," she grunted under her breath and walked ahead of him, slamming open the door to the upstairs shop.

A very pregnant Ginny Weasley nearly knocked over a display case when Hermione slammed open the door and walked out calmly, like she hadn't nearly given the pregnant woman a heart attack. Snape scowled at her curly-haired head. "Hello, Ginny. Ah, pregnant again, I see?" He flashed a wolfish grin.

"Twins," she said quietly, rubbing her belly gently. "Hopefully they aren't as troublesome as their father," he taunted lightly. She giggled. "How are the others?" he asked. She shrugged. "We had to cut Lily's hair the other day because Sirius thought it would be funny to stick gum in her hair," Ginny explained with a twisted look on her face.

Snape chuckled. "I get it he takes after his uncles Fred and George?" She shrugged. "Lily was crying so much. We'd just gotten her hair long, like she wanted," the redhead murmured absently, tapping her lips.

"Peanut butter."

They turned to Hermione, who stood there calmly. "What?" Snape asked and her eyes narrowed at him. "Peanut butter gets rid of gum in the hair. My mum used it on me when I slept with gum in my mouth," she explained. "Of course, I doubt you know that. It's a Muggle thing." _It's a Muggle thing. _

She probably didn't realize he wasn't fully wizard; his father had been Muggle after all. "I know," he said brusquely, patting Ginny's arm. "It's a shame. Lily has such lovely hair." He paused, noticing Hermione glowering at him out of the corner of his eye, and decided it was time to leave.

"Tell the boys to be good or I'll slip Veritaserum in their drinks." He tossed the pregnant woman a smile. "We'll find out who set off those dragon firecrackers last week," she laughed after them.

Hermione slammed the door behind her. _Is she…jealous? Of _Ginny? He glanced back at the woman, who was looking at baby-safe ingredients, and shook his head.

Most men thought women in general were confusing; they'd never met Hermione Granger.

oOo

"Hi, Seamus," Hermione gushed to the sandy-haired cook, looking excited and happy and carefree. Snape settled down onto the seat and watched them interact out of the corner of his eye. Seamus was all smiles and laughter; Hermione flicked her hair back again and again, smiling.

"What can I get for you, Severus?"

He saw Hermione turn her head towards the other girl, a dark-skinned beauty with half a head of ink-black hair and thick, dark eyebrows. "The usual, Rachel," he told her with a smile. The waitress shook her head mockingly, her hair flying.

"How's the apothecary? Coffee?" she said.

"Yes. Black with—" he began but she interrupted him. "Two lumps of sugar." She flashed him a crooked grin as she poured the cup. "I know," she explained, setting down the cup. "The usual?" asked Seamus, leaning out the order window. "Yeah."

"How's your grandmother?"

"Same old, same old. Thinks you need to get a lady friend. To be honest, if she weren't with you, I'd snatch her up myself." The buxom girl grinned wolfishly at his companion. "Love girls who know how to eat," she laughed and Hermione's face went red.

She never looked so enticing.


	13. Chapter 13

Snape's Paws

Thirteen

Weeks crawled by and still, Hermione didn't yield in her grudge against Snape. Every time he looked in her direction, her body would beg her to move and wrap her arms around him but then he'd have won and Hermione didn't _do _losing. She wouldn't let him win, watch her fall to her knees, come crawling back; no, she was stronger, stronger than any of the idiots she knew (in all honesty, she was the only _real _mature one).

"Why do you do that?" he asked as she leaned over the cauldron to document the potion's texture, her pin-straight hair falling over her shoulders in curtains. She clicked her pen and swished her wand, lowering the flame; an eyebrow cocked at his question.

"What?"

"Your hair…" He clucked his tongue as he measured out Fluxweed leaves and Coriander into his own potion. Turns out Muggle ingredients worked nicely in potion making; they stabilized the Wizarding ingredients and created an aroma that was pleasing to the senses.

She examined a piece. "What about it?" she asked, folding the potion over and turning away. "You straighten it…like you hate your beautiful curls," he grumbled. Anger flared inside her. _Nothing _about her was "beautiful"—especially not her ratty, _untamable _hair.

"It's like you're trying to change who you were—are," he murmured.

"More like disappear," she grumbled.

Something went _crunch _when she said that and when she looked over, she saw he'd broken his stirring rod. Slivers of glass pierced his palm. "Merlin," she sighed and headed closer, closer until she could turn off the heat and clean up the glass appropriately.

"It's just _barely _broken the surface," she told him and glanced up; he was staring down at her with a pinched expression on his sallow face. "What?" she demanded as she cleaned his wound and Vanished the potion (contaminated potions were useless). "Why?" His voice was unnaturally soft and raspy as she wrapped a bandage around the cuts.

"Why what?" she asked carefully, holding his hand as she tied off the ends of the bandages. "You very well know what," he snapped, suddenly sharp and vibrating anger. Hermione closed her eyes and calmed her racing heart. "I don't believe I do," she responded coolly and his eyes flashed like hellfire as he pulled away quickly.

"You're changing everything about yourself," he spat. The words resonated fiercely but she looked away, watching clouds pass by the window slowly. "Maybe I am," she said quietly. Silence reigned as minutes slipped by, each one quieter and strenuous than the last. At last, he spoke. "Maybe you shouldn't."

She met his glare and her stomach plummeted. He looked unkempt, his cheeks flushed under the pale light, hair falling into his face, so unprofessional. He was wearing a dark blue sweater with a fraying collar and a patch on the elbows paired with torn blue jeans and hiking boots and he looked so Muggle that, had she not known him for so long, she would've sworn he _was _a Muggle.

"I'm going upstairs," she said abruptly, turning away. "I…" Snape started hesitantly but she was already hurrying up the stairs, frantic to be away from him. She couldn't deal.

oOo

The shop was bustling and she kept busy, thankfully. "Thank you. Come again soon," she said as the man with two sulky boys left. "Good job, Miss Granger," a silky voice purred and she turned, startled, finding Snape standing behind her.

He was collected once more; his hair tied back, a long tail of ebony gliding down his back. "Thank you, Mr. Snape," she managed to squeak as she brushed away her long hair. It was beginning to frizz up, she realized absently, twisting around a strand around her finger.

"It's almost five," he said, "you should get going." "I have nothing to do," she said before she could stop herself. Snape's eyes looked up slowly from adjusting the gillyweed in the display counter. "Would you like to go grab something to eat?" Her mouth was working before her brain caught up. Surprise filled his eyes.

"Sure." He headed downstairs to grab his coat.

oOo

"Snape?" Hermione called, glancing into the basement as a chill crawled through her. "Sir?" she said, shriller now, fear replacing her apprehension. The step creaked under her weight and a musky smell rose. "Severus?" His first name tasted sweet on her tongue as she continued down the steps. No answer.

The backdoor was open, cool wind blowing in. Shivering, she cast a diagnostic spell. It rippled from her wand and spread like water, scanning; it flashed red and then purple. No intruders, although, there _was _someone lying on the floor in the storage room. At first, she thought it was an intruder, that maybe the diagnostic spell was somehow defected, but then, as she got closer, she realized it was a sleek, black animal, laying in a lifeless heap on the floor.

On its left forearm was a bare patch of skin, revealing a Dark Mark.

oOo

St. Mungo's wasn't all that busy and she was thankful for that when she Apparated into the mediwitches' station, carrying a half-limp Animagus in her arms, bleeding horribly. The front of her coat was thick and sticky with blood as he stirred halfheartedly, looking up at her with frightened black eyes.

"Please, help me…he's my boss. I found him in the basement…he's stuck in his Animagus form," she babbled as a mediwizard rushed forward and took him. _I'm so sorry_, she thought quietly as her knees buckled under her weight and she hit the ground hard. The blow rattled through her teeth as another mediwitch tried to calm her down.

oOo

Hours passed as the wizards and witches worked on Snape. "He's going to be okay," said a mediwizard with kind eyes, running his hands through his graying hair as the muggleborn sat blankly, staring down at her black coat. It had been light brown, turned black with his blood. Bile rose painfully.

"Miss Granger, while he's recovering, do you know of anywhere that he can reside? While his body builds its defenses back up, he won't be able to move very much or Turn back," the mediwizard explained, standing as his knees cracked.

"So he _wasn't _lying." A little piece of guilt welded up inside her stomach as she scrubbed at her face. "Yes," she admitted quietly, "he does."

"Where?"

"My house."

_And Merlin preserve my sanity, _she added silently.


	14. Chapter 14

(I'm alive. I just haven't had a ton of inspiration; I feel like no one's reading my stories anymore. I feel like quitting.)

Original Typeset: Life roman

Snape's Paws

Fourteen

It was torture to wait for him to wake. Hermione tried to read; to make tea, bake (or, more accurately, burn it all), but her mind kept wandering back to him. He was still sleeping, peacefully; it had been hours since he came home. The mediwizard gave her antibiotics to fight off infection and told her he'd wake when he was ready.

"Oh, Crooks," she sighed as she plopped down to watch reruns of _Happy Days _for probably the thirtieth time in an hour, a cup of freshly brewed tea in her hands, still damp from her long soak in the tub; wrapped up in an oversized men's cable knit jumper and sweats, she felt at ease, sort of at least. There was a hum stretching in the back of her brain, vibrating like a violin string, reverberating ever so faintly.

_He _should _be awake by now, _she thought dimly as she sipped the tea, only to burn her tongue. On the screen, the main characters tried to solve their silly high school romance problems only to the amusement of the viewer; she was hardly paying attention, to be fair.

_"_I'm going to go check up on him," she told Crookshanks, who was perched up on the mantle, staring down at her with his yellow eyes; his only response was a soft noise, much like a chuff to be frank and she mused the idea that he was agreeing with her.

oOo

He was just waking when Hermione entered. He was lying in the middle of her bed, the bandages of wounds too deep for magic to heal looking a bit bloody; his head rose a few centimeters and he swayed, his half-lidded black eyes looking at her suspiciously. "Hello, Mr. Snape," she said softly, setting down her mug on the nightstand.

His fur rose and a snarl rattled from his chest.

"Oh, don't give me that," she spat, a spark of anger igniting as she flopped down, causing him to bounce. He yelped as the jump jarred his wounds and crashed back down onto the pillow. The noise sent her heart skipping as he trembled.

Minutes clawed their way into her brain as they sat in silence. "Sorry," she muttered as he slowly climbed to his feet. His head swung and black eyes locked on her; something told her he could understand every single thing she'd said. Her face warmed.

"I think I like you better this way," she said quietly, looking the other way; he let out a short bark in reply as he clawed at the pillow, settling back down slowly. "Do you want anything to eat?" she asked.

Snape blinked those fathomless black eyes at her, darker than night itself, darker than his short, choppy fur; and then he turned and curled up into an egg, flicking his whip-like tail at her. "Fine," Hermione sighed as she rose to her feet and shuffled out.

The door swung shut behind her.

oOo

It was hard to cook. It was even harder to not _burn _everything. Normally, she was a great cook but somehow knowing the man—er, dog?—of her dreams was asleep in her apartment made her a bit clumsy and absent-minded. She kept thinking of him, seeing him lying there, blood pooling beneath him, still as death.

She dropped the pot and hot water splashed up, spilling over her fingers. She dropped the pot onto the floor and water spilled across her toes, sending her stumbling back. A few tears filled her eyes as she stared at the hot water and her burnt toes. Even more slipped down her cheeks and then she was on the floor, sitting in cooling water, feeling utterly overwhelmed and useless and just generally shitty.

She picked up the pan and threw it. It smashed into the floor and skidded into the TV room, nearly taking out Crookshanks, who yowled indignantly and scrambled and into the couch. A long scratch ruined the floor. She couldn't find the energy to care. The wetness seeped into her jeans and socks; she shivered. The click of claws made her look up; Snape stood in the doorway, panting.

"Sorry," she croaked as she got to her feet, only to slip and fall flat on her ass again. The fall jarred her funny bone and she lay there, ignoring the cold water soaking her clothes, exhausted and too unstable to deal with this. "I didn't mean to—" she started but he walked closer, looking powerful and dangerous even in his disheveled condition, looking down at her, black eyes so familiar but he looked kinder than she'd ever seen him, even when he was staring up into the eyes of the love of his life.

"Sorry."

She pressed her face into her knees, taking several breaths to calm herself and a cold dog nose pressed behind her ear, frigid and damp, snuffing, nosing through her wet hair. She quickly stood and Vanished the water and repaired the floor. "I need a shower," she said absently and headed for the bathroom. She slammed the door and could hear Snape chuffing at Crookshanks; the cat meowed in response. _Maybe they're having a conversation about me, _she thought dimly as she stripped down.

Under the harsh, bleaching light, her scars looked as though a thousand shards of glass had been pushed under her skin. Nude, she evaluated her body, the scars and discolorations, the freckles she hated, the birthmarks and moles, the hair she needed to shave off to be smooth without cutting up her thighs unintentionally.

Her thighs were covered in scars and, as she reached up in the linen closet for a towel to lay down across the floor as the water ran, warming, she stared at the stretch marks on her voluptuous breasts. They ran from underneath and curled close to her nipples; she sighed and pulled a breast up, staring at the marks in distaste.

It was as she sank into the water that she did it.

Maybe it was because of Snape, maybe because of the loneliness or the anxiety or just the anger, but she got out of the tub, soaking wet, slick and shiny and not so brand new and opened her secret box stored under the counter.

_Emergency kit. _

She opened the lid, pulled out a pack of cigarettes, a lighter and a bag of single razor blades. She placed the box back under and shook out a cancer stick as she headed back to the bathtub, full of hot water. Her damp hair stuck to her shoulders and breasts as she sank back into the water, admiring the way she looked under the liquid, prettier than reality.

She flicked the lighter on and lit her first cigarette in years.

And then opened the bag of razors…


	15. Chapter 15

Original Typeset: American Garamond BT

Snape's Paws

Fifteen

Something familiarly rancid burned his sensitive dog nose as Snape padded a hole in the rug out of the TV room. Hermione had been locked up in the bathroom for a while; he was growing more and more worried by the minute. "Check on her," suggested Crookshanks, looking up from licking his leg.

Snape scowled, his ears drawn back. "She obviously wants—" The rancid smell of cigarette smoke burned his lungs and made him freeze. He could see his father, drunk out of his mind, the bottles clacking as little Snape tried to make his way quietly to his room; a fog of smoke lingered in the room and he always reeked of it, much to the amusement of his peers, who always jeered and jabbed at him.

He found himself up and trotting down the hallway, his wounds aching as he did so. Blood oozed and the smell was sharp and bitter but the smoke was overpowering. "Hermione?" he called as he raked his claws down her door, frantic. Something made his chest tighten, beating loud and dangerously; he could feel the blood rushing in his ears.

He was trembling. He barked once, hating how canine he sounded, how pathetic, how low he'd sunk, as he barked louder and louder, frantic now. The splash of water made him back up against the wall, his heart pounding in his chest and then the door swung open and the witch glared down at him, a cigarette hanging from her lips, her arms covered in bleeding lines, nude as the day she was born, her chest heaving.

Had he been human, he was quite certain he'd have kissed her silly. He stared at the wounds in horror, feeling bile rise in his throat; was he the breaking point? He didn't want to know/ maybe he did/ okay, no, not really / okay, yeah, he did but how/ _you can't talk_—

"Shut up," she snapped as her bloodshot eyes met his. His fur rose and a low growl began in the back of his throat, vibrating through his stomach. He snapped his teeth back at her and she stepped forward, leaning down to him. She looked sad and angry and he felt his throat close up as the cigarette dangled too close to his skin.

Too many times his father had gotten frighteningly close and burned him with cigarettes. The smell made him dizzy and his legs gave out and he fell soundlessly, his chest heaving as he tried to breathe, only succeeding in hyperventilating. "Snape?" She was on her knees. The cigarette hung out of her pouty lips. Had he been human, he probably would've cried.

oOo

He woke with a start. Hermione sat next to him, curled up with a thick book, wearing a short-sleeved shirt and bandages on her wrists. She smelled no longer rancid; instead, she smelled like herself. Soft, light. Floral. He closed his eyes and tried hard not to move; every inch of his healing body ached.

"I'm sorry," she said. He nodded. _Like wise. _"I was just so overwhelmed," she whispered, looking sad and tired as she set down her book, her face turning redder and redder with each moment. She stared down at her fingers, clenching against the blanket; her shoulders trembled as her lip pouted, trembling. He was shocked to see the tears drip down her cheeks, leaving glossy trails; in all his life, he'd never once seen her break.

Had this been his fault?

_Your fault/ _how so?/ _you broke her / _I suppose that's all I'm good for / _just like your bastard father _/ I'm _nothing _like that man—He whined and turned his head to her, pressed his jaw into her side, staring up at her over his long muzzle. She laughed softly, tears staining her breasts freely; her trembling hands unclenched, reaching to cup his face, stroking his brow, fingers shaking horribly. "I'm so sorry," she sobbed as she buried her face in his neck, his face stuck between her elbow and hip; he rested his paws on her thighs and let her soak his fur with her tears.

Her entire body trembled as she let out her feelings, her fingers grabbing fistfuls of fur. Slowly, the tremors died down, and she took deep breaths to calm herself. When she straightened up, her face was red and snot ran down her face; her eyes were bloodshot with tears and her face stained with them.

He stood up and hopped off the bed and headed down the hall. He tried hard to ignore the pain in his back as he snatched a box of Kleenex tissues off the table and padded back. She laughed when he hopped back on the bed. "Thanks." She smiled and wiped her face, blowing her nose.

"I'll tell you about my scars some day," she whispered as she went to the bathroom to wash her face. Crookshanks filed in as Hermione took her leave.

"Good job, Mr. Dog," he purred as he slinked in, settling down on the top of the bedpost. His thick, bushy tail swayed back and forth as Snape's lip curled. "Good job? For what?" asked the dog, ears drawing back. "For helping my mistress," said Crookshanks, stretching himself across the headboard's edge, pacing back and forth in a slow, predatory way. "Things have been change around here since she found you," he continued, hopping down.

"Although," the cat said, leaning down into Snape's face, cold lemon eyes meeting black stones, "I'm quite certain it's been for the best." He turned and jumped down, whacking Snape in the face as he did so. Hermione came back in and watched him leave, smiling softly at Snape, who looked a bit confused.

"Do I even want to know?" she laughed as she got back into the bed. "Oh, here. I need to change your bandages and apply the antibiotics." She did so carefully and threw away the dirty ones.

It was as she crawled under the blankets that he answered. He shook his head and pressed himself against her, relishing in the warmth.

He fell asleep to the sound of her laughter. _Although I'm quite certain it's been for the best…although…certain…best…be…s…t…_


	16. Chapter 16

Original Typeset: Seria

Snape's Paws

Sixteen

Today, Snape was going to get a nice, thorough bath. Normally, the thought of someone seeing him nude (regardless of his current canine form) made his lip curl at the idea of them seeing his thin body, protruding ribs and jutting hipbones that carved a sharp v that led to his pelvis, the sinewy muscles of his legs and dark hair packed thick and tight of his arms and thighs and belly; surely, he was completely and utterly unattractive, far too pale, too hairy, too thin, too mean and greasy-haired.

"Okay, let's see how your back is," Hermione told him, carefully maneuvering her scissors between the bandages and his fur, snipping them away. She looked happier than he'd ever seen her; especially during the last few years at Hogwarts. While she ran around trying to save the world with Harry and trying to show her feelings to the idiot Weasley (who's emotional range rivaled a teaspoon), he'd never really seen her happy.

First year was full of anxiety as she tried to prove herself as worthy of being there as the "Purebloods", second year was full of panic and fear as the Basilisk attacked students, third was a race to keep Harry from killing Black (although he should've been looking elsewhere, perhaps _towards_ the goddamn rat?), fourth year was full of lies of love triangles and excitement as the Triwizard Tournament took place and Voldemort returned, fifth year was full of secrets as the kids learned of the Order of the Phoenix, sixth year the Death Eaters took over the school as Voldemort's hold tightened and the trio left, and then, what would have been their seventh year, bloodbaths and death and the smell of electric magic burning the air, Hermione scarred for the rest of her life, people hurt horribly, and him, nearly dying, Hermione leaning over him as he cried and handed Harry Potter the vial, filled with memories of Lily and horror and his Mark.

_I don't want to, _Snape thought sulkily, watching her. Her cheeks were pink and she was biting her lip, eyebrows knitted above soft brown eyes, curls escaping her thick sweatband. "And in we go," she told him as she scooped him up against her chest and carried him into the bathtub that was too high for him to jump into. Embarrassment flooded him as he was dropped in slowly; water sloshed around his knees, clinging to his fur.

The heat felt wonderful on his aching bones so he sank down until his belly was flush against the bottom of the tub, head just above water level. The heat was surrounding him, washing away the dirt that had accumulated over the weeks of being stuck in her apartment and not bathing prior.

In such a lull, he didn't notice Hermione leaning over him, dressed in a sports bra and sweats, holding a bottle of dog shampoo. It was warm, having been rubbed into her hands, and burned at the tender skin but he bit his lip the best he could and let her scrub away the sweat and dirt, thick, brown foam dripping from his fur.

"There," she whispered, her face too close to his. For a short minute, he thought she'd kiss him but she was only turning on the showerhead to a soft mist, letting it soak him and wash away the foam.

He closed his eyes and let memories wash over him.

oOo

He hated it when his father smoked, the thick fog burning his sensitive lungs and sending him into attacks of horrible wheezing, tears prickling his eyes as he struggled to breathe. His mother would cry; his father would scream at her to shut up and then he'd light another one. The floor would be littered with beer bottles, vodka, tequila, liquor; anything his father could get his hands on.

Being only a blue collar worker didn't exactly pay for his addictions of booze and smokes. He never saw his father angry, sure, irritated or peeved but never, ever angry. As he got older, things got worse. His father started drinking even more, smoking more, his teeth stained coffee-filter brown and his eyes bloodshot and ringed with bags from sleepless nights staring at the television that played only one channel all night.

His mother was wasting away, her face growing more and more hollow every time he saw her, the bags under her eyes getting darker, her once pretty raven hair growing thinner and thinner, the sunkeness of her eye sockets reminding Snape of a skeleton, only this one sang to him softly when his father passed out and snuck him chunks of bread to eat; she'd comb his hair with her pretty, bone comb from somewhere called Hogsmead and sing a pretty song about magic from her world.

One night, when he was thirteen, he was making his way to his room from school when he tripped and broke several bottles lying on the floor, the shards of glass cutting through his jeans and piercing the pale, milky skin underneath. His hands throbbed and he started to hyperventilate when he saw the blood on his palms, thick and hot and relentlessly pooling. The blue denim turned black with blood, the pain blurred out by the screaming upstairs; his father was bellowing and his mother was crying, broken sobs that made his chest tighten and stomach drop down to his toes.

Ignoring the pain in his hands, he picked the pieces from his legs and palms and headed down the main hallway. Their bedroom door was wide open, a broken vase lying on its side, a thin, tapered brown wand lying broken on the floor. He scooted closer. Every nerve ending was on fire and burning with cold ice as his father loomed over his mother, her face bloody and her nose gushing down her lips, her eye swollen. Her skin was grey and her unswollen eye was bloodshot form burst blood vessels.

Bruises littered her thin, skeletal arms. She was crying, hysterically, her voice hoarse and raspy and Snape saw the bruises on her throat from his father's hand. Snape didn't realize he was crying until his father turned to the door; saw him and those familiar raven eyes narrowed, jaw tight.

Then, very slowly and deliberately, dropped his mother onto the bed, walked to the door and quietly said, "Go to your room, Severus." Snape hated the way he said his name. He opened his mouth to object and saw his mother shake her head, mouthing, _please. _Icy tendrils crawling up his spine, he turned away and took a few steps.

Their bedroom door clicked shut as he scooped up her broken wand and shut himself inside his tiny, crowded room and listened to her screaming and crying and the thumping of the bed.

He fell asleep with her wand under his pillow that night as the fighting and screaming and crying raged on like a war.

oOo

Snape blinked and turned to Hermione, who was fast asleep, a book lying on her face. He looked around, scanning for danger before pressing himself into her side and laying his head down.

The war of his parents' marriage raged on for a millennium in his brain.


	17. Chapter 17

Original Typeset: Adobe Garamond LT Regular

Snape's Paws

Seventeen

Hermione woke to beams of light pouring over her closed lids, pulling her from a dream of giving a cat a root canal. Yawning, she stretched languidly and rolled over, finding herself face-to-face with a sleeping black dog, his lips twitching as he fidgeted in his sleep. He looked worried and anxious, kicking his paws.

_He looks so much like his human self, _she thought dimly as she stood, her muscles aching softly. Deciding to hop in the shower, she scooped up some clothes and headed down to the bathroom, stripping off her panties and her sleep shirt, leaving them on the floor. She'd grab them later.

As she ran the water, she stood nude in front of the sink and brushed her teeth, the fresh taste waking her further. With the foam dripping from her lips, she looked rabid, wild bed head puffed out like a lion's mane. She laughed to herself as the mirror fogged up like it did, leaving watery streaks running vertical. Like tears. She rinsed her mouth and splashed cold water onto her cheeks, ignoring the way her skin prickled at the cold.

"I'm in need of a good, long soak," she murmured, eyeing the hot, clear water. With a quirky grin, she rummaged around in the cabinet under the sink, faltering when she saw the little wooden box, painted with an intricate design, and beat up. The lid was wide open, a gaping mouth of glinting blades and cigarettes, begging to be lit and glinting edges stained red.

She picked it up slowly and shook the contents. _Ca-thunk, ca-thunk, ca-thunk_. The sound used to be her solace, her only thread to staying in the world of the Living, with beads of crimson, dancing lines on her skin; the smoke, rich and thick and deadly, would fill her lungs slowly, staining her teeth yellow and stealing her youth slowly.

She stared at the contents, at the silver blades and small cancer sticks. "No." She dropped it unceremoniously and everything spilled out, scattering. The click of claws drew her attention and she opened the door, smiling down at Snape. His black eyes stared up at her, and, if a dog could blush, she was quite certain he would be. He saw the blades and cigarettes on the floor and looked panicked, his eyes widening. "No, no, I'm fine. I'm going to soak. You're free to stand guard if you'd like." She headed back and heard his chuff, which sounded suspiciously like a groan.

oOo

The box was heavy and rough in her hands as she headed towards the fireplace, curly hair piled high in a bun and secured with her wand. Manually, she lit the fire and let it climb higher and higher in the fireplace; orange and red licked at each other and burned bright yellow.

Snape was watching her apprehensively from his spot behind the sofa, black eyes narrow; he was fairing well, his coat growing more sleek and glossy each day, his back healing slowly but steadily; the grooming she'd given him had helped. He looked like a dog version of the potions professor she'd come to know so very well.

"After the war, I often isolated myself from my depression. It was hard, watching everyone pick themselves up and glue each other together but I was drowning and everyone was none the wiser." Hermione sat down, letting the heat sink into her skin; her toes wiggled in their stockings and Snape crept closer, eyeballing the box like he didn't trust it.

One by one, she pulled out the cigarettes and blades. Eventually, he relaxed enough to lay down beside her and rest his chin on her leg; she stroked from between his eyes to the wrinkled edge of his bandages. Wrinkling her nose, she whispered, "_Ferula," _and the dirty bandages fell away at his belly, replaced by crisp clean ones. Admiring her handiwork, she continued.

"It got so bad; I was admitted a few times until I suffered a breakdown and was placed under suicide watch. They stopped me from ending it several times; it was you, Prof—Severus," she admitted shyly, twisting her hair around her finger tightly.

He huffed to her.

"You stopped me. I remember being thrown onto a bed and they tied me down to keep me from hurting anyone and then they sent you down and you told me, in that lovely, commanding voice of yours, to snap out of it."

He shifted against her. Remembering.

"I thought about everything you'd sacrificed, your time, your mind, your…your body to us every day since Harry turned eleven," she said softly, sniffling as tears prickled her eyes. "And I burst into tears. You patted my head and told me not to cry, that my tears were meant for someone more…pure. But the tears didn't stop and you just stroked my hair and I remember falling asleep then. After that, I was determined to get better."

Slowly, she rose to her feet and clutched the box to her breasts; the wood dug into her skin painfully as she swayed. The fire was high and the heat was searing, making her face flush. "I hid this away in the bathroom for when I got really, really bad." A shuddering breath.

"I used it when I broke up with Ron, when my aunt died, and when they…they found _him _all mangled inside his house, Dark Mark staining the clouds above. He was the only one who understood; my cousin, Jeffrey didn't deserve all the pain Bellatrix unleashed on us." Absently, she rubbed her wrist, feeling the rugged skin, puckered and never healing.

_Mudblood. _

The word used to send her to the girls' room in tears but now, it set a fire inside her belly as she glared at the ever-climbing flames. Snape whined and bumped her calf. She glanced down into his big, black eyes and sighed softly. "I'm going to burn my razors and cigarettes but not the box. It's all I have of Jeff's; his parents donated the rest, kind of like his organs."

His eyes swung between her weapons of choice and her chest, staring at the box or maybe her breasts, which just about threatened to spill out of her sweater's low collar. The sweater was frayed and decaying but she kept it because it was Jeff's. "Goodbye," she whispered as she sealed her lips against the cigarettes' cool, laminated boxes and tossed them. The gleaming razors followed and Snape watched them hungrily fall into the fire, melting slowly as the boxes curled in on themselves.

"How about some dinner?" she asked softly. He perked up and gave a short bark.

As she passed the bookshelf just outside the kitchenette's doorway, she saw a large opening and tucked the ornate box there.

It looked like it belonged.


	18. Chapter 18

Original Typeset: Scala

Snape's Paws

Eighteen

They fell back into that familiar routine. Hermione would wake up and they'd go on a long jog, Snape puffing and wheezing while doing so as his lungs struggled to take in enough oxygen.

Today, however, was January 9 and he refused to come out from under her bed, even snapping at her, baring sharp, long teeth, his black lips peeled back. He absolutely hated January 9th with a sharp, acidic passion.

_There's a good reason,_ he told himself as he pressed his bum flush against the wall, wedged in the gap between the edge of her bed and her dresser, his eyes glued to her bare toes, noticing the pink nails. "Come on," she sighed heavily, and then her face was level with his, pleading brown eyes and he nearly caved, inching a bit closer.

_There's nothing _special _about the day of one's birth; it's just a bunch of bumbling dunderheads hollering and foolishly waving their wands to entertain each other's miniscule brains with bright colors and sweets, _he had told everyone who asked, a sneer on his lips as he hid his trembling hands inside his robes and swept away. Snape sighed and edged back instead, hearing her swear as she rose, her maxi skirt falling back to her ankles. "Why? Today's only…the 9th…" Realization crept into her whimsical voice. "Oh, Severus! I'm so sorry. It completely slipped my mind!"

_If only it had, _he thought dryly as he watched her feet moving, first to the left, then to the right, pausing. "She takes birthdays very seriously," crooned a voice. It was Crookshanks, peering down at him from atop the dresser, yellow eyes focused on him.

Snape shrugged one shoulder as the cat leapt down gracefully and settled himself in Snape's line of eyesight. The Dark wizard's eyes narrowed as the half-Kneazle looked at him. "She won't do anything if you tell her not to," he told the man-turned-dog, twisting his head to lick at his back.

"She will?" Snape echoed, black eyes widening a bit as a shadow fell across them. "How do you suppose I do that?" he sneered, bristling as the dresser was shifted and the air smelled of light flowers after a summer's rain. "There." It was Hermione, towering above him, her cheeks flushed and hair exploding out of its half-assed bun. "Why don't you—" She was reaching down—it was another hand, covered in thick black hair—he was in another life, still too small to defend himself from his father's rage.

Snape coiled his muscles tight and, just a hair's length from her hand; he exploded at the last second, tearing out of the room with a great, frantic speed. Her footsteps followed—it warped, growing louder and heavier, shaking every fiber of his being.

He was running away, just like before, his feet moving as quickly as they could, ignoring shards of glass and burning cigarettes. "Severus!" His father's voice boomed as he dove into his hiding place, a small, animal-sized crack in the wall, wedged in there, his bony chest heaving as his heart pounded in his ribcage. His father entered the room, a blood-red anger dominating his once handsome face, his lanky black hair hanging over his large nose and into his blue eyes.

"Please, Tobias, leave him—" Eileen begged, her black eyes filled with tears as he turned, fast, sharp, and struck her hard. There was a crack and she collapsed to the floor, cradling her broken jaw. A rancid, cold feeling filled him as his father ignored her sobbing and began walking the length of the room. His back was burning with the punishment of what was to come.

"Oh, _Sev-er-us,_" Tobias called, a mocking lilt to his deep voice. Snape pressed a hand against his mouth and flattened himself desperately against the left wall, hearing the loud thud of his father's work boots get closer and closer, thumping loudly.

He tasted sweat and grime on his lips as his father passed his hiding place. The belt in his hand was taut and flashed in the light, a heavy, thick leather that left welts when struck with that stayed for days. The footsteps faded, for a split second, and then rushed back, even louder than before. An angry, blue eye peered in and a huge, veiny hand reached in, grasping his hair. He let out a cry.

"Severus!" It was Hermione, eyes shining above him, her hair framing her face. Snape quickly realized he was crouched; teeth bared, fur on end and quickly lowered his lips over his teeth, his heart beating too fast for him to calm down. She looked frightened, wide-eyed; it took him a minute to regroup his scattered thoughts and notice the blood running down her cheek from a paper-thin line.

He looked around. Froze as the blood in his veins turned to ice, chilling him considerably. Around them, hovering in several circular rows, were knifes and scissors, all pointed inward, their sharp edges gleaming. One of the knives, he noticed, had a faint smudge of blood; it was hovering inches above Hermione's shoulder.

"Things just keep getting worse and worse," Crookshanks said from his corner, licking his long canines free of mouse fur and blood. Between his teeth dangled a skinny, pink tail, stained with tufts of thin fur and chunks of intestines.

He slurped it up disgustingly and licked his lips after a short burp. "Have you _ever _heard of an Animagus in their Animagus form using magic? It's unheard of," Hermione babbled, wide-eyed as she looked at the blades above her, growing cross-eyed even to stare at the scissors directed directly down, the tips just gracing her nose.

"It really _is _unheard of," added the Familiar in the corner, smirking as he licked his claws slowly, eyes gleaming yellow-green. "I've been around for hundreds of years, being half Kneazle actually, and I must say I've seen many, many things. From both sides; Dark and Light alike. But I have never, _ever _heard of an Animagus, regardless of how powerful they are, being able to use their magic while in Animagus form."

"Severus?"

He blinked hard and looked into her brown eyes, the color of cinnamon. Hermione. He took a deep breath to steady himself and lower his racing heart, the blades edging down slowly, lowering themselves by his command until they clattered to the floor loudly.

His knees gave out and he crashed to the floor.

"Oh Merlin, Severus," Hermione whispered, crawling to him and cradling his head in her lap, stroking his side gently, a ghost of a touch.

Darkness flooded him.


	19. Chapter 19

Original Typeset: Bembo

Snape's Paws

Nineteen

Hermione asked Snape if he was comfortable as they walked up the familiar drive. Around them, there was laughter and loud chatter. Today was Lavender Weasley's children's birthday party and he was determined to be there, despite his…form.

_Yes, _he told her, his presence fluttering like gossamer wings against her mind. Since his birthday, celebrated only by a whisper of "Happy Birthday, Severus" when he fell asleep, they'd exercised the practice of Legilimency; Hermione quietly explaining it would easier to communicate with him instead of guessing what he was trying to convey.

It was a stroke of genius, coming to her as she woke in the heat of her room and Snape pressed into her stomach, head resting comfortably on her pillowy breasts.

She studied the subject for days before coming to Snape about it, explaining quickly at his look of derision and lowering ears that it would be far easier to communicate with each other instead of trying to guess what he was saying. Reluctantly, he agreed.

_I'm sorry about you being unable to attend in your human form. I told Ron about it so everyone knows you're—_She began to explain.

_Dear god, you did? _ His voice was much sharper than intended and she flinched at the feedback. _I'm sorry, _she offered shyly, looking away quickly. _Don't be, _he sighed.

She made to knock on the door but it swung open and she was engulfed in a very Weasley embrace, Fred and George ruffling her hair; Bill and Charlie greeting Snape cautiously; Percy was squished between Hermione and Ron, turning redder and redder.

Snape barked sharply. _They better keep their hands to themselves or—_

_Or what? You'll growl them to death. _Her chuckling made their connected brains ring and his head whipped to the side, ears up and alert as his eyes locked on the edge of the Burrow.

"Oh, dear," chuckled Lucius Malfoy as he smirked at his friend; Snape growled and snapped his teeth. "Come in, you lot!" yelled Molly over the cacophony of the den and, as Percy led the way in, Hermione saw Lucius lean down to speak with Snape. The Animagus bared his teeth…in a surprisingly relaxed, playful manner.

The Brightest Witch of Her Age turned her back to the cold and headed in, feeling Snape pressing his shoulder into her calf the entire way.

oOo

A spastic Tonks and overly eager Pansy pulled her away from Snape, who seemed to be immersed deeply in a story of Lucius's, his head tilted back, eyes trained solely on his friend. "I see he's behaving rather…calmly," said the Auror, patting her leg as she picked up a Butterbeer spiked with Firewhiskey, squinting at it before sipping it.

"He has been for a while," Hermione admitted, taking a nonalcoholic Butterbeer and cracking it open. Fog spilled over the opening and floated over her fingers; condensation dampened her palm. "He's been quite docile since you blew his secret a year ago," she said to Pansy, taking a sip as Tonks hounded the Slytherin for more information.

"He was staying with you _before_?" Tonks asked and several heads turned their way; Pansy hissed suddenly and pressed a hand against the other's mouth, teeth bared. "Be quiet, you idiot," the dark-haired girl snarled. "We don't need the entire damn place knowing."

Tonks, now red-faced, nodded, turning her attention to her now way more interesting drink but keeping her eyes on Hermione. "He was. I didn't know at the time that it was Severus."

"Severus?"

Their heads cocked, reminding her of freakish twins, one pink-haired, and the other dark-haired. "Well, yes, that _is _his name," Hermione explained slowly, dragging her finger across her lip as she let her eyes wander in Snape's direction. He was still listening to Lucius.

As if sensing her, his head turned, eyes locking with hers. Cheeks aflame, the witch turned her attention to Lavender, glowing with pride as Ron wound his arm around her plump, wide waist, one hand resting on her protruding belly; another Weasley on the way, no doubt.

Fred and George were setting up lines of Weasleys' Wildfire Whiz-Bangs and Miraculous Mystic Mayhem Makers in the grass, alternating between the two. Angelina spotted Pansy and made a beeline for them; Tonks was pulled away by Lupin, who was eager to include her in a conversation with Arthur about something.

Suddenly, Hermione found herself alone, standing awkwardly, watching her friends split off in different directions, leaving her by herself. She felt small and insecure and twisted strands around her fingers; all over again, it was third year, being ignored by her only friends for reporting the Firebolt to Minerva, worried about Sirius Black trying to hurt Harry.

She bit her lip and slipped off to be by herself, heading to an alcove of dark, shadowed trees and bushes of foxglove and mint and peppermint. Hermione could spot Belladonna and Fluxweed. Dogwoods, Elms, and Chestnut trees shrouded her. She watched everyone converse, completely relaxed and easily speaking to one another and felt a little familiar dark loneliness blossom in her throat.

She sighed heavily and searched in her skirt's pockets, trying to find her journal to take note of the plants surrounding her. If only plants were people she could _really _relate to. Using a well-gnawed pencil to write down in loopy scrawl. _Foxglove, mint, peppermint, Fluxweed and Belladonna bushes|| used for potions, stabilizer. _

_ Elms, Chestnut and Dogwood trees|| used for potions as well, normally in bases. _

_I see you've found the plants. _

She jolted from her note-trance and fell off the bench she'd been sitting on, flinching. "Merlin," she gasped out, trying to catch her breath as Severus peered at her. _I didn't mean to startle you. _He sounded amused.

"Of _course _you didn't, Mr. Stealthy," Hermione drawled, brushing off her skirt as she crawled to her feet. He backed up and sat down at the opening.

"Hermione!"

It was someone in the distance, a backdrop of yellow illuminating the bright red hair. She squinted. It was Ginny, holding James in her arms and Lily clinging to her mother's leg. "Come on!" She was smiling widely as Harry appeared, waving to Hermione.

Snape butted her leg and Hermione grinned, pocketing her journal as she made her way to Ginny.

Snape trotted at her side.

_You're never alone. _

_I have you. _

His head turned away as the Weasley Wizard Wheezes explosives shot off, loud and burning bright in the darkening sky.

_Perhaps. _


	20. Chapter 20

Original Typeset: Adobe Garamond Pro

Snape's Paws

Twenty

_How can you __stand to watch this…this stupidity of false tears and horrible storylines? _Snape asked in the evening, settling down against Hermione's thigh as she watched some soap opera about twin brothers and one girl. "I don't know. The guys are hot, the girl is actually a pretty decent albeit stupid character, and the score is _beautiful_," Hermione admitted, chuckling to herself as the episode ended with an extreme close up of one of the twin's pale faces, the girl screaming in the background as she tried to stop the bleeding of his gunshot wound.

_W__ill she stop bloody screaming? It doesn't help the situation at all, even if the love of your life was shot in front of you, _Snape grumbled, remaining on the couch as Hermione turned off the telly and flopped down in front of the crackling fire, the glow warming her skin.

_Aren't you supposed to have books? Perhaps some on potions? _That reminded her. "What about your Apothecary?" she asked, sitting up. _I have a co-owner who's taken over in my absence—a certain Slytherin with blonde hair. Ring any bells?_

"Lucius?" Hermione muttered, squinting up at the Potions Master. His body shuddered. _Merlin, no. I don't even want to _imagine _that imbecile touching my ingredients. _"Dr…Draco?" His blocky head bobbed as he hopped down, grimacing when he connected with the carpet and padded over to her, lying down, pressed tightly against her side. _Indeed. He passed with double Es, despite spending most of his time bunking Harry's potions or trying to get others in trouble. You, however, were my brightest and most promising student. I have never regretted teaching you. _

Her cheeks burned.

_Even as your professor, a _Death Eater _nonetheless, I knew potential when I saw it. What girl of only twelve can brew Polyjuice nearly perfectly? Even the most brilliant sixth years have trouble with it; hell, Potions Masters as well, namely Slughorn. _He huffed. _Of course, you weren't very hard on the eyes as your years grew at Hogwarts. I remember the look on Weasley's face when you descended into the Great Hall of Krum's arm, glowing like you'd received straight Os. You were beautiful; of course, I never acknowledged my slight attraction towards you. You were half my age; still are. _

He rested his chin on his paws, closing his eyes. Hermione, for her part, was still, heart hammering loudly. _Stop talking, _she begged silently in the part of her thoughts that was isolated from his, quivering.

He kept talking.

_When you found me, I intended to stay just a few days until I was well enough to turn back while you were out or during the night and leave but I couldn't…I couldn't change back. At first, I thought it was because of my wounds; being injured makes an Animagus's transformation back to human close to impossible. After I began to heal, I found I still couldn't return back to my former self but it hadn't really bothered me; I had you to keep me busy. _

_I learned a different side of the Gryffindor Princess. She was as kind and as stubborn as she was in class. And, it seemed, that she had feelings for me. _

Her breath caught in her throat like a lump of food. _ No, no, he's going to mock you. Just like everyone else. _She pressed her cheek against her arm, turning her head away from him. His cold nose pressed against her shoulder, the chill seeping through the fabric of her shirt. Quickly, she pulled herself to her foot, mumbled something about needing a shower or bath, and fled to her bathroom.

Her entire body was turning red with the searing heat of her blush, making her cringe as she locked the door behind her, ignoring the way the fabric rubbed against her skin, already irritated. Her fingers were shaking as she struggled to pull up her sweatshirt, nails scraping the skin. She felt raw everywhere as she striped off her bra, letting it fall inside the sink; her panties and sweats followed and hit the floor in a puddle around her ankles.

_Have I said something to offend you? _Snape's voice rang through her head and she closed her eyes as she ran the water hot as it could go. _No, you did the exact opposite, _she answered, sitting on the edge of the tub and breathing in the growing steam. It swam into her throat, deep and hot, sticking there.

_The exact opposite…are you happy?_

She sat down in the water, feeling it scald her already raw skin. Her face burned. "I am, actually. You've guessed my feelings but I'm afraid I can't guess yours."

_They mirror yours. _

She sank lower in the water, cheeks burning viciously.

oOo

The bath helped clear her head and she felt relaxed and calmer than ever as she stepped out of the shower, damp hair piled high into a towel.

"Are you saying you have a romantic interest in a Gryffindor?" she called to him as she toweled off her damp breasts and thighs. Beads of water slicked down her neck, curving to the swell of her breasts, down her soft stomach. There was silence before he answered.

_Yes. _

She quietly opened the door. _Of course, given that I'm not in animal form. That would be inappropriate for both of us. _His dark, dark eyes stared up at her.

"I'm not entirely—"

There was the loud roar of the Floo activating, Crookshanks yowl shrilling over the noise, almost completely drowning it out. "Hermione? Darling?" called a loud, accented voice. Confused, she turned to the sound. _ Who is that? It doesn't sound familiar, _Snape said, padding down the hall leading her.

Squeezing her hair with a towel, Hermione followed, her mind flitting through the relative or friends it could be. The only person with a Boston accent was…Hannah Abbot. But why would she be at Hermione's house at…nearly seven at night?

"Hermione!" sang Hannah as she crawled out of the Floo, carrying a bottle of Firewhiskey under her arm. She was dressed in simple black robes and high heels, teetering in them as she tripped over the hem of her robes and landed ungracefully on her butt.

She looked about, confused suddenly, and then burst into laughter as she fell on her back, kicking her legs wildly. Hermione watched her, her cheeks flushed under the heavy freckling, wisps of red-brown hair falling into her chubby face.

"What are you doing here?" she asked the other girl, watching as the smaller witch rolled onto her hands and knees. The bottle tumbled to the floor and drifted away into the kitchen, glass against linoleum, an irritating sound that grated on Hermione's nerves like the points of glass shards.

"To congratulate you!" Hannah laughed, throwing her arms up as she got to her feet, swaying. She looked more voluptuous in her form-fitting robes, accenting her flared hips and smaller breasts, the fabric draping her body delicately. Her makeup was a bit heavy, with thick, cat-eye eyeliner and long, brush-stroke thick eyelashes and rogue-stained cheeks. Her glossy, coral pink lips peeled back into a grin.

"Celebrate what?" Hermione asked, heading into the kitchen and fetching the Firewhiskey bottle from the ground. It was as she was looking for a space in her wine rack that Hanna Abbot answered.

"Hooking up with Professor Snape of course!"

The bottle fell and shattered at the Brightest Witch of Her Age's feet.


	21. Chapter 21

**Sorry for not posting in forever. I just haven't had a lot of inspiration for this. A few suggestions would help this angel (as one of DP fans, Saunders2, calls me) out a lot. Thank you!**

* * *

><p>Original Typeset: Transitional 512 BT<p>

Snape's Paws

Twenty-One

Hannah Abbot was drunk off her ass, _obviously._ He watched as Hermione dropped the bottle, staring at her classmate in horror and shock.

_I don't date, _he said loudly to Hermione and watched her jump, brown eyes wide and swinging towards him. As though she'd forgotten him. His resolve hardened. _I do not date, _he repeated, watching as Hannah stared at the dog curiously. Her bleary blue-grey eyes managed to focus for a moment. Recognition dawned across her freckled face.

"This dog is soooo cute!" she cried and crouched down, only to end up on her butt. Snorting with laughter, she held out a limp hand and he stepped closer, ignoring her hand (which smelled horrible like compost). _I'm not cute, _he thought darkly and Hermione snickered as Hannah buried her face in his shoulder. "Hannah, Severus and I _aren't _together," the curly-haired witch said firmly.

"But the Daily Prophet—" Hannah's lazy, unfocused eyes stared in her direction. "What? The Daily Prophet?" The frown on Hermione's mouth was growing bigger and bigger. Snape disentangled himself from the drunken girl and trotted to the other side of the room, sitting beside Crookshanks.

The cat looked smug.

"It seems the Daily Prophet, along with Rita Skeeter, are convinced that you two are dating," the cat mused, looking humored but his tone was dull. "What? How? Why?" Snape hissed, fur bristling. "That night at the club and, later, the café," Hannah murmured.

"Oh Merlin," Hermione groaned, pressing her hands against her eyes. "Damn Rita Skeeter and that stupid nosiness!" She flopped down onto the floor next to Hannah and patted her awake.

Once the other girl was up, she sent her on her way. "Well, here's to our fake and non existent relationship, Severus," Hermione muttered.

_Non existent yet, _Snape corrected her softly.

oOo

"Oh," said Harry, his green eyes wide as he looked up from the newspaper at Hermione. "You and Snape?" he whispered. "Not that I've got anything against you, Snape, but I just—it's hard to wrap my head around her. Hermione hasn't been in—"

"You idiot! It _isn't _true!" she snapped, her face glowing like embers as she scowled down at her coffee. They were sitting in a little coffee shop near Muggle London, after Hermione had called the Auror up to help her get rid of the accusations of her and Snape being together.

Snape stared up at them, listening to the conversation ping-pong back and forth but hardly paying attention. To be honest, he didn't mind people thinking they were in a relationship. It wasn't that he dated; he hadn't had that many women in his life. Who would want an old, grouchy Death Eater as a boyfriend, as a romantic interest, regardless of his acts during the war, regardless of his sacrifices? "I want this _gone_," Hermione hissed, drawing Snape from his internal monologue.

"I'm sorry, Hermione, I really am. I'll see what I can do," Harry said, placing a hand over hers. Snape pretended that it didn't bother him and curled up in a patch of sunlight under Hermione's chair.

oOo

"Can you _believe _this…this…hogwash?" Hermione sputtered as she glared down at the newspaper, crumpled from her tight grip. _Not really, _Snape said calmly, glancing up from his spot beside the fireplace as he regarded the flattering picture moving across the front page. It was dark but you could clearly see Hermione, her red halter top and gold skirt sticking out against the creamy green background of the counter and the creamy brown of the table, and Snape, wearing all black as usual. They were talking, Snape explaining something and then Hermione smiling slowly.

_The Bat of the Dungeons and the Gryffindor Princess: A secret love! _

"It's complete and utter rubbish," Hermione hissed, her cheeks colored with red. _When I'm fully healed, I won't bother you with my advances, _he said to her. Her cinnamon eyes squinted at him. "You don't have—I mean—I'd like to, but I'd rather not have the whole world knowing, and especially from the mouth of that dirty, little sneak. She probably has the world convinced the worst."

_Still. _He tried to keep himself detached and cold. _Would you wish to…_He found he couldn't bring the words out and felt himself flush, like he was a schoolboy all over again, trying to speak to a crush. "Date? I thought you didn't date?" Hermione's voice sounded a bit pitchy.

_I don't…but for you, I'd make an exception. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm exhausted from this nonsense of drunken girls and fake couples, _he said matter of fact as he adjusted his position, lay back down and closed his eyes.

She chuckled and quietly left but he laid awake for a great deal of time, listening to the sound of the fireplace while his brain processed the Daily Prophet's accusation.

oOo

"I managed to squeeze an apology out of the little bugger," Harry stated as he stepped out of the Floo, wiping the ash from his cheeks and shaking his head like a dog, clouds of soot rolling off him. He readjusted his coke bottle glasses and smiled. "It's not that I…I don't _want _to be in a relationship, Harry," Hermione stammered, twisting a strand around her finger so tightly, Snape was surprised that it didn't cut off her circulation. "It's that I want…I want to do it of my own accord and announce when I'm ready, you know? L-Like you and Draco," she continued.

"Yeah, I guess," Harry said slowly. "Dean was surprisingly calm about finding out. You'd think with he'd have exploded." Hermione nodded. "It's been rather calm," she said, "no mail, no threats, no real looks."

Harry's brows furrowed. "It won't be long before you do, Hermione. How about Ron and I set up some precautions?" he suggested, chewing his thumbnail. Snape watched the banter unfold, knowing Hermione was completely at ease with her old friend as he with her, and tried to piece together why she treated him differently.

Was it because of before, nearly a year ago? He knew she harbored some degree of feelings for him but he wondered if it were the same as his. _Don't think that way until you can Turn back, _he scolded himself, chuffing slightly as he scowled inwardly.

"You alright?" Harry squinted down at him. _Tell I'm not used to seeing him without my grandson glued to his face, _Snape said, referring to the club night so many months ago, recalling Harry and Draco making out rather provocatively. Hermione snickered and repeated what Snape had told her. Much to both of their amusements, Harry turned beet red and sputtered.

"I've gotta go," he muttered, "I'll be back in a few days." As he threw a fistful of Floo powder and shouted his destination, Hermione pouted her lips and made kissing sounds between her peals of laughter.

The last thing Snape saw was Harry's middle finger disappearing into the green flames.


	22. Chapter 22

Original Typeset: Stempel Garamond LT Roman

Snape's Paws

Twenty-Two

Beauty and the beast. The odd couple. The lion and the snake. Over the week after the newspaper was published, Hermione received over two hundred letters, one hundred fifty reprimanding her for her supposed relationship with Severus, and the others supporting her. There were death threats and poems of support, artwork and Howlers. _Can you stop looking through that rubbish? _Snape hissed when jolted awake from his midday nap in the sun by a particularly loud Howler. "It's not…" she began, ready to argue her case of opening the letters, but immediately quieted at his scathing look and watched him slink away.

She chucked the now silent Howler into the trash bin pile (to be burned, more accurately) and picked up something that looked harmless enough. Still, she whipped out her wand and cast a few diagnostic spells; it flashed orange and then purple. Puzzled, she set down the envelope and stepped back, hitting the mantle.

With a quick flick of her wrist, the contents spilled out of the envelope and stained the carpet red. She screamed shrilly as the innards fell out with a sickeningly wet splash.

oOo

She was trembling as the Aurors combed through the rest of the mail, bagging all the death threats and Howlers promising bodily harm. Her stomach hadn't stopped churning since she opened the letter and she kept breathing through her nose, trying her hardest to not be sick. She'd never seen anyone's entrails, much less a wizard's or a child's, even after surviving the Battle of Hogwarts. She'd seen the grey, bloody faces of the living mourning the dead and had even caught glimpses while running around, the wizard and witches' faces eerily calm despite the cacophony left in their wake. She remembered the white sheets, dragging on the wet concrete as the spells rocked the castle's foundation, chunks of wall making her stumble. When she hit the ground, she stared into a dead Death Eater's face.

Even then, she hadn't been quite as disturbed as now. Harry rubbed her back as Ron and Seamus bagged the entrails, each one looking green in the face when they noticed the puddle at their feet amidst the carpet. "I don't…" Hermione began, her voice weak despite her alert eyes and drawn face, "…I don't know how…how it could've…"

"We got so busy that it completely slipped our minds about coming over," Harry admitted softly, taking her elbow and leading her to the kitchen. Aurors were gathered in there, speaking quietly to one another, glancing up curiously at them before turning back to their conversation.

"It was just a child," she murmured, feeling her eyes fill, "a child. An _innocent._" Her voice broke and she sniffled as Snape pressed himself against her leg. The minute he heard her screaming, he bolted to her and pushed her back from the horrific sight. After he calmed her down, staring into her eyes with his black ones, he coaxed her to call the Aurors and had refused to leave her side even once, growling darkly at the wizards and witches who attempted to remove him from her presence.

Her fingers ran through his silky, thick fur as he licked her fingers. _I'm sorry, _she said absently and she had the faintest feelings that he was rolling his eyes at her. _Don't be sorry for something horrific that someone else has done, Hermione, _he told her, his voice filling her head. She sighed and rested her forehead against the table, weaving her fingers through his fur.

_It doesn't help, Severus. I won't…I can't…_She broke down and started crying. How could this have happened? Why?

"Hermione?"

She blinked away her tears and looked up, startled to find her mother and father standing close together in the doorway. "What happened? There's…a giant red stain and—" her father said. She opened her mouth to explain but nothing came out; the tears spilling down her face seemed to be enough to convey the feeling of something horrible had happened.

oOo

Her mother held her hand and her father spoke with Harry outside. Snape was lying across her lap. _Hermione, this isn't your fault; you didn't kill that boy, _he said, staring up at her with his big, endless sky eyes. She nodded. "Hermione, dear, when did you get a dog?" Jean asked in a pitchy, breathless attempt at light conversation. Hermione's brained whirred.

"It's Snape, mom," she blurted.

"Snape?" Jean's thick, dark brows drew. "The man who was with you last time? But—how?" "He can change into an animal but he's injured so he can't change back," Hermione explained like it was an ever day occurrence, like grown men changed into dogs all the time; at least, in the Wizarding world, they did, but in the Muggle world, with its dentists and still pictures, they didn't. Her mother's look of puzzlement didn't smooth out into understanding; if anything, it increased. "A man into a _dog_? I understand your world, of course, but I can't wrap my head around how a grown man can transform into an _animal_."

"Or grown woman. There _are _female Animagus out there," Hermione informed her, nodding to herself as her fingers wove through Snape's fur. She could feel heat rise across her neck, prickling. "Well," Jean butted in, wiping her hands on her skirt, "tell me what happened." The determined but concerned eyes of a mother brought tears to Hermione's eyes.

"It's horrible," she whispered, curls swallowing her face as she curled up, hiding her face. Speaking passed the building lump her throat, she continued. And then the words poured out, all hot and boiling her stomach, making her chest hurt. "Someone did that…" Jean's voice was weak and tiny as she wrapped long, lean arms around Hermione; the Muggleborn leaned into her mother and breathed in the familiar aroma of lavender and laundry detergent and mouthwash. Her mother's teeth gleamed pearly white when she spoke next. "Why would they send it to you, though?"

Hermione just shook her head and let her mother rock her, Snape's weight digging into her thighs and his claws wedged against her hip.


	23. Chapter 23

Original Typeset: Fanwood

Snape's Paws

Twenty-Three

Someone was in the bed with him. Blearily, Snape lifted his head from the pillow and the woman sighed, pressing herself further against his chest. He couldn't make out a lot of her features; only wild curls obscuring her face and a very plump figure. Her leg was wedged between his knees and her arms were looped around his chest. She smelled heavenly, whoever she was; even moreso, she felt amazingly warm and soft in his arms.

"Good morning," she mumbled and broke his train of thought. _That voice, _he thought and scrambled back, only to fall off the bed and smack something off the nightstand. "Shit!" he hissed, holding his hand to his chest. The woman sat up, startled out of her sleep. "Christ, are you okay?"

Snape blinked as he rubbed his back. Something popped, reminding him of his age. "Fine," he muttered as he stood up. Light flooded the room. His stomach seized. Hermione stood before him, dressed in a short crop top and boyshorts, curls exploded around her round face, eyes flicking between something low and his face. Curiously, he glanced down too and found he wasn't wearing any clothes.

"Pardon," he murmured as she squeaked and turned away quickly, rattling about something. Amused, he waved his fingers and called out, "_Accio _wand!" It zoomed into his hand and he conjured some clothes. Once he was dressed, in trousers but clothes were clothes, he said, calmly, "I'm sorry." Her hair wriggled as she spun to face him, her cinnamon eyes wide in surprise. "_You're _sorry?" she repeated slowly, advancing. "Yes. I'm afraid I've outstayed my welcome," he explained, pushing forward an air of indifference as he pulled on his shirt, buttoning it carefully so as to avoid looking into her face and forgetting all of his thoughts. "You haven't," she said firmly and he caught a glimpse of sadness in her face, her eyes lowered and lids half-mast. "I've grown to enjoy our time together," she continued softly.

"Still—" he began, rising to his feet but paused when her hand touched his arm. He cursed himself as his head angled down, his gaze locked on her puppy-dog pout. Big, brown eyes stared up at him. "Please, stay," she begged, leaning into him, and he could feel her breasts. He tried to breathe. She smelled wonderful and he wanted nothing more than to press his mouth to hers and devour her lips.

"Alright," he said because who could say no to her pout? _You old fool, _he told himself as she laughed heartily and headed for the door. "Last night…thank you," she whispered mysteriously before closing the door. _What happened last night? _He wondered as he sat down upon the bed.

There came a loud meow and Crookshanks made himself known. Mustard-yellow eyes eyed Snape as he rolled out across the pillows. "Yes, I'm a human now. You must be pleased that I'm no longer a dog," he muttered dryly, smoothing out the wrinkles in the comforter absently. "I won't be like that stupid Weasley," he added. "I'm not completely brainless."

They both glanced down at his tented trousers. "What? I'm human," he spat, angling his lower half away from the cat's knowing smirk before leaping to his feet and stalking out.

He swore he heard a catty laugh behind him.

oOo

Leaning against the doorframe in the kitchen, Snape admired Hermione's figure. Round thighs and a plump bottom, muscular legs and dainty toes, a soft belly and tiny shoulders. She was by no means the gangly little girl she'd been at eleven; time had done her good. He watched her profile, her pouty lips and small nose, her round cheeks. Her cushiony breasts seemed to be like the rest of her, padded and cutely thick. "Miss…" The word _Granger _died on his lips as she bent down, reaching for something. His face exploded with heat and he quickly made his presence known.

"Oh, you're here. How do pancakes sound?" she asked, her eyes twinkling up at him. He nodded his approval like he hadn't been thinking about slapping her butt or kissing her silly or the way her body had molded against his this morning or her wide-eyed expression at seeing him nude. Clearing his throat, he strode closer. "May I be assistance?" His voice was breathless and far too low; seductive, even. She blinked several times and then broke out into a short laugh. "I'm quite capable of cooking, Severus," she told him, shaking her head. "Says the girl who turned herself into a cat," he mused gently.

"Hey! I was _twelve_. And Bullstrode's hair resembled her cat's hair," she chortled, placing a hand on his stomach as she passed. His face warmed at her touch and he coughed. "Severus Snape!" she cried, backtracking quickly with a huge, shit-eating smirk on her face. It made her look devilishly devious, like a succubus closing in for the kill, knowing she has her victim in the throes of pleasure. He swallowed hard, trying to wipe the idea of being her victim, her victorious expression looking even more dangerously delicious in the dark shadows of the room. Snape's face flamed even more. "Yes?" He raised a brow, attempting to put an air of serenity and not a maelstrom of desire and embarrassment at a mere touch from her.

"Are you _blushing_?" Her eyes caught rays of sun and she looked even more beautiful, right here in front of him. "Perhaps," he muttered absently, drawing his mouth to a corner of his face as he averted his eyes. He couldn't look at her any longer or he'd grow even redder, thoughts blossoming inside his brain. What was _wrong _with him? He'd always exerted control in all things he did and his self-control exceeded normal people. Working for both the good side and dark had its difficulties, especially when being tortured for lack of information or being hounded by a nosy eleven-year-old with a lightening scar two didn't know shit about your true loyalties.

"I like it when you blush. It looks good on you." Her grin sent his face even hotter. "Now, come help me, Tomato Man." He heard a loud meow and turned. Crookshanks smirked up at him. "Shut up," he hissed as his attention was captured by Hermione once again.


	24. Chapter 24

Original Typeset: Berling

Snape's Paws

Twenty-Four

Hermione's mind wandered as she sliced up strawberries into a ceramic bowl.

Last night, after the Aurors left, after her parents Flooed away, after the house went quiet and still but she could still smell the blood in the air and see the entrails on the carpet forever etched onto the backs of her eyelids, Severus had gently lulled her into a calm. His dark eyes met hers and his voice, soft and hypnotic, vibrated through her brain. _Breathe, Hermione. Deep. In through your nose, out your mouth. Good, good. Sit down. _

She sank down, weak-kneed and muscles relaxing, the cushions enveloping her. His voice was soothing, a balm to her burn, his eyes filling her vision, wide and vast, an ocean of nighttime. His long nails scratched her feet as he settled down before her. _That's it. Good girl. Keep going. Close your eyes. _When she hesitated, he repeated, close your eyes in a far firmer tone. Reluctantly, her lids lowered inch by inch. A black block cut off the top of Snape's head, then his shoulder, chest stomach until he was nothing but a layer of ink. _Now, imagine your favorite memory, _he told her somewhere in the distance, his voice echoing like they were in a canyon.

For some reason, she didn't think of when she found out about Hogwarts or when she graduated with top Os; she thought of _him_, staring up at her as she watched the life slip from his eyes, the crystalline tears shimmering at the corners of his eyes, streaking down his temples. He looked so sad and fragile laying there, his breath rattling out of his cracked, bloody lips. He looked so at peace, so unlike the war haggard man she'd known for seven years, as his eyes fluttered shut, the last image that of his unrequited love's green eyes.

"Where would you like this?" She blinked and her memory was gone, banished by the present day Snape standing in front of her, in her house. Her stomach twisted. "Sit down. I'll do it. You shouldn't be on your feet, after all," she said shakily, "until your back is healed." She reached out, prying the bowl from his grasp and setting it on the counter. When she turned back round, he was frowning at her, eyes hard. "Why are you treating me as though I'm a child?" he asked finally, his voice smooth like butterscotch and just as silky. His long, spider-fingered hands gripped the edge of the table, white-knuckled and a clenched jaw.

"What ever do you mean?" Her voice came across obnoxiously pitchy and shrill. A lock of long, black hair fell across his wide forehead, cutting across his left eye. His chest was rising slowly, rising and then falling, raise fall repeat, and she found her eyes tracing the path of buttons on his frock. "Hermione, answer me." He was sharp, an edge of a glass shard, and she shook herself. "I, well…" She fidgeted.

"I'm waiting." His long, lean arms crossed, his back against the edge of the table, his intense gaze locked on her, Snape was the epitome of _tall, dark and mysterious. _"I kind of liked taking care of you, okay? I've taken care of the boys for seven years and I like being depended upon. At work, no one gives me a second glance. When I'm with friends, all I can think about is how I saved their asses so many times while they chatter about pregnancies and shit," Hermione blurted, the words pouring and gushing from her mouth like a great wave of agony, piling into the air between them and stalling; Snape's calm expression never faltered once as he digested her verbal diarrhea.

"Okay," he drawled softly, stepping closer with each drawn out syllable, "I understand the need to be wanted. Believe me, I do, but I'm a grown man and I don't want to be babied. If you want to baby someone, why not try a daycare?" A chord vibrated inside her, making everything ring in startling clarity. He was still watching her, waiting for a response but, to be quite frank, Hermione couldn't see a hole in his suggestion.

"That's actually not a very bad idea," she murmured as he strode passed her, heading for the oven. Abruptly, she was all too aware of the musky, sour smell filling the kitchen and making her eyes water profusely; it took her a minute to notice the faint smoke. Panicked now, she spun around in time to see him dispel the smoke with a flick of his wand. The smell, however, lingered, painfully sharp and bitter. "I'm sorry," she apologized quietly, wondering how on Earth could she have been so out of it as to nearly burn down her flat.

"No harm done," he said, and then looked at the charred remains of pancake batter, "well, except for the pancakes it seems." A strangled laugh bubbled out of her and he looked mildly please at having made her laugh. Something light gleamed in his fathomless eyes, like a faraway brightness. _Happiness can be found even in the darkest of times, if only one remembers to turn on the light. _She was smiling, her cheeks aching with the width of it, teeth flashing. "Thank you," she breathed, her voice raspy and far lower than she liked, seductive even, "for helping me last night. For staying. For…for being there." Suddenly feeling shy, Hermione turned her face away and reached for the middle drawer in the granite counter top. "Hope about going out to eat?" she offered, trifling through the pamphlets to find the breakfast ones. "Considering I've charred ours passed the point of no return." At her Gaston Leroux reference, he snorted and she twisted.

"That was a dreadful noise," she informed him and his lips twitched in something that resembled a smile. "Such a dreadful smell," he said, referring to the sour stench of smoke lingering. "Does I-HOP sound alright?" she asked him. "Sounds edible," he stated.

She rolled her eyes and headed upstairs to get changed.


	25. Chapter 25

Snape's Paws

Twenty-Five

They headed out after she came clomping back down the stairs, dressed in jeans and a knitted jumper, hair pilled back with a bandana. "You look presentable," he said, looking up from reading the back of a cereal box. She flushed, but didn't say anything. He absently delved into the idea of using legilimency on her, seeing what was wrong, but quickly decided against it. He didn't want to offend her.

"So, are we doing to Apparate?" She threw him a look over her shoulder. "Drive." "Driving? You know how to drive?" When he cocked a blocky, black brow, she paused in stride. "Yes. I function rather well in Muggle society," she answered, reaching into the hideous bag she constantly carried around (almost like a child) and rifling around, elbow deep. He watched the flurry of emotions cross her face before she crowed loudly and, with flourish, pulled out a set of keys.

"Keys…to what exactly?" he asked, leaning closer to examine the metal. She jangled them in his face. "A shed," she drawled with heavy sarcasm and he shot her a black look. "It's to my truck," she sighed eventually, and he tried not to look startled. Call him old-fashion but weren't trucks masculine, not exactly feminine? He glanced at Hermione's plump figure, noticing her short, bitten-to-the-quick nails and muscular forearms.

"And no, I don't care whether it's feminine or not." She wrinkled her nose, freckles bunching. "It was my cousin's car, so my uncle and aunt gave me it after he died," she continued and paused. They both glanced down at the healing scratches on her arms and she shook her head. "Come on." She grabbed the keys from him and they continued walking.

He followed her; but, then again, it wasn't like he had any choice.

oOo

"Rule number one: don't touch the radio. Driver picks the music," she stated while scrambling into the driver's seat. He slid in beside her, squinting down at the tiny witch as his head bumped the ceiling. "Of course, " he said calmly, folding his legs up awkwardly, knees hitting the glove compartment as he folded himself into the tiny seat.

"Rule number two: no sudden hand motions. It'll distract me." She reached over and grabbed her seat belt, tugging it across her chest. He followed suit. "And that's it. Stare broodingly out the window if you must," she said, squinting as she leaned over the steering wheel.

He laid his hands in his lap, suddenly shy and unsure of what to do. She cast him a quick glance. "What?" he asked hastily. Her eyes quickly jumped away. "Nothing," she answered before flicking on the engine and slowly backing the car out.

She drove in silence, muttering to herself as she switched lanes, stopped at red lights, and nearly collided with several hazardous drivers. Every time she did, though, she swore under her breath and he was amused to no ends with how many profanities she knew.

"Shit!" she gasped as she slammed on the breaks; car jerking forward, and Severus smacked his face into the low-hanging ceiling. The seatbelt tore into the flesh of his throat and he choked for a moment, struggling to catch his breath. A red Mustang swept passed them, running two red lights as Hermione slowly eased the car forward again, her face bright red.

"Are you okay?" She glanced over at him, quickly, and then turned her attention back to the road. A few curls stuck up, crackling with irritated magic and she muttered under her breath. "No good bloody wanker." Despite the loss of breath, Severus managed a snort.

She looked at him, wordlessly, then back at the road, like she didn't want to be caught staring at him. He rolled his shoulders, adjusted his legs so they weren't digging into each other, and tried to lean back in his seat. The rest of the ride was silent, quiet.

Occasionally, Hermione would mutter something to herself and nibble on a curl, almost absently. He picked at his cuticles, watching his bony fingers dance as he drummed them against his kneecaps. Every time he shifted, the bottom of the glove box smashed into his knees, making him cringe every time.

"Tall people problems," she said with a chortle. He shot her a look with a tiny twitch of his mouth. She smiled at him and then turned away, focusing on driving once more. He stared at her, curls cinnamon-brown in the light, pouting bottom lip sucked into her mouth, feathered coco dust eyelashes casting frayed shadows across the apples of her round, blushed cheeks, until she asked, quietly, "What? Is there something on my face?"

"No."

"In my hair?"

"No."

"In my teeth?"

"No."

More silence. "What is it then?" she demanded suddenly. _You're beautiful, _he thought dimly, lacing his fingers together in his lap. "The sky." She put on the blinker, switching lanes and heading down an exit. "You have a window right next to you," she answered, taking a turn.

He nodded, folding his arms. "I know, but I like the way it looks. The negative space of your profile against the positive of the sky," he said, staring at the slope of her nose and the dusting of sunny freckles across her cheeks. She blinked, pulling into the I-Hop parking lot rather quickly. The breaks squeaked.

"The negative of my profile? Really?" Hermione tossed him a squinted look as she unbuckled her seatbelt. "In all the time I've known the Reformed Snape, that's the most bullshitted lie if I've ever heard one."

He stared at her as she hopped out, slamming the door behind her. Once her feet hit the concrete, she weaved her way around the pedestrians leaving (sticky kids, exhausted parents, googly-eyed teens) and jumped up onto the curb. Hands on her hips, she waited on the sidewalk for him, ignoring the looks people flashed her and the more obvious jeers of the mocking teenagers. A couple pushed passed her, snickering at her wild mass of curls.

He reached down, tapped the red button gently, and watched the fabric line draw back into its case. "You'll be my sweetest downfall," he muttered as he slowly unfolded his long legs out. The couple from before gave him a wide-eyed look as he stood to his full height, staggeringly tall to them. He mused that he must've looked like Death reincarnated.

He set his stride calmly and headed towards the flushed witch.

As unintelligent as her response had been, he had to agree. It _was _a bullshitted lie.


	26. Chapter 26

Snape's Paws

Twenty-Six

If you had told Hermione that that she'd be squeezed into a booth at I-Hop with Severus Snape, his knees hitting the table, head dangerously close to the low-hanging light above their table, she would've asked you what spell you'd been hit with. Now, her hands wrapped around a steaming mug of freshly brewed coffee, she could hardly believe it herself.

Severus had his head bowed; his long lashes silver in the light, and he was utterly still, as though he were made of stone. She wasn't sure she could see his chest rise and fall with every inhale and exhale and nudged his calf with the edge of her sneaker. Without looking up, he asked, "Yes?"

Heat crept up her face, pooling in her cheeks. "We shoulder order something," she suggested quietly, glancing at him over the crisp edge of her menu. He met her gaze for a second, his midnight eyes piercing, before turning his intense concentration onto the list of breakfast foods. All she could see where his big, black eyebrows. Feeling the need to break the silence, since she'd decided to get cinnamon pancakes, she asked, "So how did you become an Animagus?"

He barely glanced up as he answered. "There are two ways. Surely you should know them, Gryffindor's favorite bookworm?" Had anyone else called her that, she would've dumped her coffee all over their head but, hearing the words roll fluidly off his tongue, she felt a small splash of embarrassment and pleasure.

"You either take a course with the Ministry or you're born one," she said, twisting the scorching mug in her hands. His head bobbed. "So which one were you?" she pressed. His lashes appeared as he blinked, scanning the menu still. "I was born one," he stated. "How come you've never used it before, say during the war?"

His fingers were bone-white against the bright colors of the laminated menu but his voice never wavered as he spoke. "There was no need, even in the most desperate situations." His nails drummed. Hermione brought the cup to her lips and sipped, eyeballing him. He didn't particularly upset by her endless questions. As she sipped, he folded the menu and laid his folded hands on top. Long, graceful fingers, even longer nails stained from various potions and ingredients.

"What did you do after the war?" he asked suddenly.

"Oh." She blinked in surprise, setting down the mug. "I finished Hogwarts. Went to Muggle College. Got my diploma. Now, I'm a writer for a newspaper. I've actually published a few books, though they weren't as successful as _Inkheart _or _the City of Ember_," she laughed softly. His eyes flickered briefly down to her mouth than back. "What about your scars?" he prompted, unraveling his fingers. Something cold dripped down her spine, like icy water.

The waitress came by to take their order but Severus never lifted his eyes. Their table was cleared, glasses refilled, and then the waitress was gone, her ponytail swinging back and forth like the pendulum of a clock.

"I…It was a hard time for all of us. We lost loved ones, husbands, wives, children, and friends. We experienced things children, tender age of seventeen, should never have to experience." Hermione's hands shook. "There was so much death and the trials had everyone on edge. I managed to reverse the Obliviate I put on my mother and father but…they…never quite forgave me." Her lip quivered. "I couldn't tell them why I did it—and the rest of the family despised me for it."

"Except your cousin." It wasn't a question.

A pinprick stabbed her eyes, hot and fierce. "Yeah. He loved me. All I could say to them was, 'It was to keep them safe.' From _what? _They'd ask, but they didn't understand why I didn't want to talk about it. A lot of us had nightmares, waking, sleeping. I remember we were all sitting for dinner and someone came rushing into the room and my brain just…just stopped." Her voice lowered several octaves and she struggled not to cry. "I was back in the battle, stumbling over stone, watching enemies and friends rush at me. My mother told me that I pulled my wand and I was screaming, all wide-eyed. Jeff snapped me out of it. Everyone looked at me like I was a monster. That was the first time I used those razors. At first, it hurt, that sharp paper-cut sting, and I looked at the blood and I felt better. It was like…some of my evil was slipping out."

Severus nodded understandingly.

Hermione lifted the mug to her lips and burned her tongue on the scorching coffee, anything to break away from his eyes.

"It got really hard after he died. Bellatrix tracked him down one evening and tortured him slowly. They said she was looking for me."

She blinked away a film of tears and something touched her wrist, long, white fingers curling around its girth. Heat seeped into her skin. She followed the sinewy arm covered in heavy black hair that vanished into a black coat sleeve, a broad shoulder. The jarringly sharp jawline, a hint of stubble, faint scars gleaming in the light. High cheekbones, framed by ink-black hair, set below deep-set, hooded eyes the color of the midnight sky. Set between the eyes was a long, slight crooked nose, more like a beak than anything but it suited the man.

What startled her the most, however, was the hint of softness to his startlingly sharp features, an age-old sadness in his eyes, a soft line in the seam of his thin mouth. "You don't have to tell me anymore," he told her and his voice was velvet-wrapped nighttime, silky and smooth. "The years after the war were painful for all us," he said and for some reason, she thought of him, pale and tired, at his trial.

"Alright," said the waitress, breaking the quiet connection, and Severus's hand lingered before retracting, slithering back into his lap. "Cinnamon pancakes, chocolate chip." Their plates were set before them and Hermione wiped the tears of her eyes. The waitress squinted at Severus like he was the cause but the bushy-haired witch smiled.

"Shall we?" Severus asked once the waitress tick-tocked away. Hermione shyly met his gaze and found something warm in them. "Of course."

"Better than burnt to a crisp," he said and she snorted with laughter, nearly spraying coffee all over him. It dribbled down her chin instead and his mouth twitched, as though he were fighting a smile.

She had the feeling he was trying to make her feel better and she really appreciate it.


	27. Chapter 27

Snape's Paws

Twenty-Seven

It was all too easy for Severus to forget whom he was with. Hermione smiled and laughed and flirted and didn't treat him like he was going to hex her any time soon. He could feel himself relaxing, making little sarcastic comments to lighten her moods but, as soon as they stepped back into the wizarding world, the looks were heavy, filled with disgust and surprise and hatred. People pointed and whispered and hugged their children close.

"Severus," Hermione said and he glanced down at her as yet another woman hugged her child closer. Her tiny, chubby hand slid into his, curling fingers around his. "Don't let them bother you," she murmured, pressing her cheek against his arm. Through his jacket, he could feel the heat of her skin and it sent a ripple of awareness rolling through him, of how pretty she was, how plump she was, how sweetly she felt pressed against his side. It had been so long since he'd felt a woman's presence at his side, since he met Hermione. He couldn't think of any time he'd been so close to a woman; the last he remembered was his mother, holding him while she combed his hair using a bone-comb that was her mother's. There was also…_her_…flame-red hair, glossy eyes—

He shook off the memory before it devoured him whole, enveloping his mind entirely. Hermione's hand squeezed his, tightly and her big, brown eyes filled his vision. Her sweet breath made his head swim as she hugged his arm, beaming, laughing, pointing out silly shop titles that rhymed and sounded funny. He blinked hard, shaking off the stares like a wet dog—pardon the pun—and relaxed beside her. She felt so warm against him, despite the nippy chill in the air, and there was a flush on the apples of her cheeks and her nose and the swell of her breasts.

"Madam Minx's Magic Love Shop," he pointed out with a low laugh. Against him, she shuddered and he wrapped his arm around her. "You alright?" She glanced up at him, her face splotchy and red, and nodded. "Fine," she said softly, turning to face the wall of little, crooked shops with display windows covered in books, clothing, animal cages, and robes. Her maroon and gold scarf fluttered about in her wake as she pointed to a used bookstore. When she tugged on his arm, he let her lead the way without a word.

Her backside was a very lovely sight.

oOo

The book section Hermione led them to was full of dust but she didn't seem to notice. She dove right in, pulling book after book from the shelves, dusting them off and flipping through the pages quickly, drinking in the information like a man dying of thirst. She looked exquisite, hair curls tangled with dust, clothes spotted with dust bunnies, completely immersed in her book, only her eyebrows visible, which knitted and jumped and twitched as she devoured page after page of the stories and philosophies and theories and conversations and sweet kisses and romantic love stories.

He sat across from her, cross-legged even though it looked awkward with his long, knobby legs, folded at odd angles, knees squished against the spines of the books Hermione was leaning against. Balanced in his lap was a massive, beat-up Potions textbook, with writing in the margin and dog-eared pages, sloppy teenage handwriting. Some of the pages were torn and weathered and warped, like it had been dipped in water and left out to dry.

This probably wasn't the most ideal date but Hermione seemed to be having a blast, setting book after book into piles, her face lit up with excitement and the sweet satisfaction of knowledge. "Has this little shop always been here?" It felt strange to speak after such a long period of quiet and her head snapped up, eyes sparkling. There were smudges of dust on her face and in her messy mane of curls but her eyes were bright and her smile was wide and innocent; there was even a flush on her cheeks that hadn't been there before.

"Yes, but I've never really had the chance to sight-shop. As you know, I'm very busy, buying supplies and working and, before I started working, school." She placed her thumb in the place where the spine met the binding of the pages and smiled at him. Dimples in her cheeks flashed in their holes. "I'm afraid I don't quite have the same luxury that you do, to go out in town without getting stares and whispers and treated like a criminal." He shrugged a shoulder when she leaned closer, placing a hand on his thigh for balance. Pieces of stray curls tickled his face as she met his eyes, smiling wide. "You're a criminal," she said with a laugh, "but the _good _kind." There was laughter in her eyes and happiness on her mouth, seeping into him, rubbing off and before he knew it, he was smothering his laughter with his sleeve despite the dust, his shoulders shaking and tears prickling his eyes as he struggled not to laugh.

Hermione, on the other hand, was laughing in short little bursts, covering her mouth with her hand as she fell backwards onto her butt. She was certainly a sight, what with all the dust and frizz in her hair, her face beet-red from the strain of keeping her laughter under control. It was almost surreal, sitting there so close to her, to a woman half his age that _enjoyed _his company and wanted to be around him, hell, maybe even had romantic feelings for him and didn't turn him away. She'd come a long way from a gangly little girl with untamable hair and big teeth and clothes that hung off her too-skinny body. Gone were her days of huge socks and oversized sweaters and frizzy hair she couldn't even dream of taming without bottles of some hair-taming potions.

"Come on. Let's get out of this dust bowl," he said with a hint of a smile and she took his hand.


	28. Chapter 28

Snape's Paws

Twenty-Eight

Despite his initial tension, Severus relaxed, even returning her quiet, subtle flirtations with ease; taking them in stride dare she say it. She didn't miss the way he'd tensed up around the public, a tic in his jaw jumping out against the pale surface of his skin with every witch or wizard that tugged their children closer, whispered in their ears to stay away from the "big, mean, ugly Death Eater", which was disconcerting considering Harry had made it known to the Daily Prophet about Snape's loyalties and his undying love for Lily; hell, even going so far as to _share _such sensitive information with that bitch, Rita Skeeter.

The witches, bored with their lives as common housewives, all sighed over his love for Lily and wished for their own undying romance, unwavering. It made Hermione sick, knowing that millions all over London and wherever the hell they sold this shite were reading about Snape's very private, final thoughts before dying. Of course, Hermione had tried so hard to get the Ministry to take it down, but they'd balked at the idea like the lowly cowards they were, and buried their heads in the sands when she confronted Rita Skeeter at point blank. Rita had eyeballed her, even made a sly comment about her hair and her teeth, and transfigured into her little beetle Animagus form right then and there, scuttling into the hurrying feet and disappearing from Hermione's sight.

"Something wrong?" mused the black-haired man beside her, and she shook her head. "No," she replied, smiling up at him, but she could tell by the slightly distant expression on his face that he didn't quite believe her. "Just thinking," she relented slowly, catching a glimpse of their reflection in the window of a store. It was like seeing two strangers, completely and utterly incompatible; her hair was wild, pulled back into a low, bushy ponytail, and her clothes weren't exactly stylish; however, Severus was in tip-top shape, sleek in all black, his curtain of hair blending into the black fabric of his clothes. "About what?" he asked.

They hopped down into the road of cobblestone that wound throughout Hogsmeade, branching off in various directions, until they reached a little French-looking café, with a lovely aroma of buttery bread and rich wine. "Things," Hermione murmured, pressing a hand against the pushing door and shoving slightly, watching it swing inward with ease, gliding really. "Like what?" He was right behind her, his heat wrapping around her as his hands brushed her hips, soft as silk, tentatively as though he were afraid to scare her off. She paused, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, and bumped him with her ass. He sucked in a short breath, more of a gasp than anything.

"Rita Skeeter," she answered honestly. A low growl slid out of his mouth. "What a mood killer," he said. A laugh bubbled out of her, right from the pit of her stomach, and he looked startled, his eyes widening for a split second, and then his white face smoothed out, marble once again. It occurred to her that maybe he was flirting with her, and the thought made her skin prickle, her cheeks burning red. _Is this a date? _Feeling more than a little bit self-conscious of her wild hair, she patted it down, hoping he wouldn't notice her attempt to keep her appearance nice just in case this was a date. "Your hair looks fine," he told her abruptly and she stumbled, his hand tightening around her bicep to keep her upright.

A low murmuring sound that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle slid out of his throat as he steadied her—Merlin, his hands were like fire against her skin, seeping through the fabric of her sweater—and gripped her hand as he helped her over the little steps leading to the dining area. He squeezed her fingers briefly, and it sent her a heady rush, and then his hand was gone. "Do you come here often?" she asked anxiously, and her voice pitched shrilly, belying her hopefully calm expression. He chuckled, yes; this time she could tell it _was _a chuckle, and his hand was on her hip, burning through the fabric of her jeans. She nearly fainted right then and there. "A bit," he replied smoothly against her ear, and a shiver rolled down her spine.

"A bistro?" she repeated dazedly.

"Indeed. They make wonderful flatbreads," he admitted, bumping against her ever so slightly, his hip against hers. Even after he'd moved away, her heart was still thumping vehemently. A waitress with long legs bounced up, hair swinging in the uniform ponytail of all longhaired employees (even males). "Welcome to Greengrass's Graces. Table for two?" she asked in a welcoming voice, smiling wide. Hermione glanced at Severus, who nodded, and slipped between a row of booths and the little podium where the hostess would greet guests. The bistro itself was very nice, with warm tones to the décor, and a handful of quiet, happy customers; it was very different than the Burrow. Just the thought of being stuck at the Burrow, Molly quietly pinning Hermione to her seat with the heat of her glare, the boys running around, Fred and George setting off their latest line of firecrackers, Ron yelling in her ear to be heard over the children screaming and laughing and Hermione struggling to keep her food off the ground and not trip over a little one.

"Very quant," she muttered softly, looking around as Severus pulled out her chair for her. Her cheeks spotty, she thanked him and sank into her seat. Severus said something to the server, an elderly man with an eye patch who reminded her of Madeye Moody, and he nodded. "I just ordered some wine, if that's alright?" At the raised brow, Hermione flushed a bit and nodded. "If I think back, we've never sat down and spoken of things we've been doing since the end of the War. So, pray tell, what has been happening?"

She relaxed, leaning against the table, and took a sip of her drink.


	29. Chapter 29

Snape's Paws

Twenty-Nine

The morning after their I-HOP date, Hermione decided to get to know Severus. Each morning, while they opened up shop, she fired questions at him and he answered. Knowing his past with Lily Evans, she avoided speaking of the redhead and the Marauders; instead, she asked him about teachers and subjects and how he discovered the better techniques for his Potions class.

"Hermione," he said exasperatedly, setting down a huge barrel of slugs down with a flick of his wand, "While I don't mind the questions, I'd like to reciprocate."

She flushed delicately around the ears as she flipped the "closed" sign to "open" before facing him again. "Sorry," she muttered, tugging on a curl as she crossed the room and turned down one of the aisles. From there, she began to tidy up the ingredients by hand.

"You do know you _are _a witch, don't you?" he drawled teasingly, keeping his tone light.

His joke didn't deserve the short little glare she gave him.

"Yes, in fact, I do, but I like doing things the Muggle way. Speaking of which—" She stopped mid-sentence and looked away quickly, pressing the palm of her hand against the surface of several jars of preserved unicorn hair and grindylow scales.

"Speak of what? Muggles?" Severus stepped closer and adjusted a jar that was precariously hanging closer to the edge than he'd have liked. "Do you watch the telly?" he asked suddenly, changing the subject in the drop of a hat.

Hermione blinked. "Not really," she admitted, adjusting a sign that said the price of pickled bat wings. "I prefer to read. Anything, really. Science fiction, romance, classics." She shrugged absently as they headed back up the aisle to greet the first customer of the day.

Ginny stood between the baby-safe aisle and the Dark ingredients one, holding Albus on her hip and trying to keep Sirius from running off with one hand on his arm. "Hello," she said breathlessly as she blew a wayward curl out of her red face. "I was wondering if you have any willow bark? Albus has a fever, and—" She whipped around as Sirius wiggled out of her grasp and ran toward the opposite section. "Sirius! Get back here!"

"Sirius James Potter," Severus growled in his Teaching voice that used to stop misbehavior in its tracks, "you'd be doing yourself a favor by obeying your mother." As he spoke, he drew himself up to his intimidating height.

A shiver branched down Hermione's spine as she stared at her ex-professor, his square shoulders and rigid posture. It was so easy to forget who he was—her former professor. He'd seen her grow from a gangly little eleven-year-old who knew too much to a seasoned war veteran living with ghosts in her eyes and shadows of monsters across her skin. Unease filled her throat, her stomach.

"Thank you," Ginny sighed to him, relief shining clear in her eyes.

Hermione turned away, grinding her teeth against the sudden wave of jealousy.

"No problem," Severus said, patting down his robes. "Now, if you'll follow me, we have some willow bark, both crushed and dried, down this aisle." He led her down the herbology section, with lilies and gillyweed and everything in between.

Once the ends of his robes disappeared down the hall, Ginny's voice floating into her ears, Hermione turned and stalked to the next costumer, a tiny wizard with a bushy moustache.

OOo

The day wore on, with witches and wizards coming in and out at all hours. By the time business crawled to a slow, despite the bright sunshine, the temperature had dropped into the low thirties.

Hermione scowled out the window as she swept the floor carefully, doing things the Muggle way to keep her mind occupied. Off of him. Off the way Sirius had frozen under his stare and how Ginny had beamed at him, her once sallow face turning a bit pink with relief.

_Stop it, _Hermione hissed to herself, _you're acting like a petty schoolgirl. Honestly, it's like Ronald all over again. Getting jealous over another girl smiling at him? What are you, one of those overly-jealous witches who keep their men on a tight leash? _And that brought the image of Severus on a leash, wearing a leather collar. She didn't know whether to laugh or not, but she felt blood flood her cheeks, and she knew without a doubt that she was bright red.

Shaking her head fiercely at her lusty train of thought, she pushed the image away and instead mused about her friends. _Slytherins and a Gryffindor friends? What fresh hell is this?_ Resting her cheek against her hands, both folded over the tip of her broom, she closed her eyes and remembered how things had come to be.

Two months after graduation, of which had been postponed for two years due to the damage from the War, exactly three days before she broke it off with Ronald, Harry called Hermione up, sounding nervous and painfully panicked. Without a minute to spare, she'd rushed over his flat and found him with red-rimmed eyes and a quivering expression that threatened to crumble. As soon as she'd stepped in, she sucked in a short breath at the sight of Draco bloody Malfoy sitting on the foot stool, playing with a silver ring.

"Hermione," Harry had choked out, his voice low and pitchy, husky. He sounded terrified. "I wanted to tell you, you know, before Ron—" He stopped mid-sentence and rubbed his sides, clutching them. "I'mgayohmygodpleasedon'tkillDraco," he'd blurted, near hysterics.

"And you're dating Malfoy?" Hermione had pressed gently, reaching forward to envelop the Boy-Who-Lived-Twice in a gentle, soothing hug.

He collapsed in her arms, his entire frame quivering frantically.

"How long?" she had asked Draco, running her hand up and down Harry's back.

"Two years, since the War ended. It just sort of happened." Draco's gray eyes, the color of steel, met hers somberly as he spoke. He'd unfolded himself from his seat and strode over, graceful despite the tight crease between his brows, the slight quiver in his jaw.

"He told Ron, who blew up at him and insulted him." He flexed his hand, and it was then she noticed the red on his knuckles, as though he'd punched someone.

"I take it he tried to throw a few punches?" she'd mused, wrapping her arms underneath Harry's armpits to lug him to the couch. Draco intercepted and swung his apparent significant other into his arms.

"As much as I dislike you, Malfoy, I trust Harry's judgement. The war changed all of us, whether it be for the better or worst. Harry's no longer the little boy with big shoes to fill' he's a man with a good head on his shoulders. If he's gay, good for him. Just because he's dating you, despite how much of a prick you were in school, doesn't mean I'll drop him like hippogriff dung. I'm glad," she continued, pressing a hand to Draco's arm, "though that you're treating him right. I've never really said anything, but since you two started dating, I've never seen him happier. Not even with Ginny."

"I still can't believe she's going to name the kids after Harry's family," Draco had moaned, shaking his head.

"I know." Hermione headed for the kitchen to make some tea; Harry would want some once he calmed down.

"I'm glad you took it better than Weasley." Draco had looked up, his expression one of utter calm, pausing in smoothing back Harry's messy hair.

"I'm just glad he didn't tell me something actually horrible, like he was dating Umbridge." She'd turned and rummaged through a cabinet, looking for tea.

"That _would _be a nightmare!" Harry had laughed between sobs.

After Harry calmed down, Draco answered the door around six, and a familiar, spiky-haired girl paraded in.

"Where is that git? I'll hex him so hard that he loses every one of his freckles!" Pansy Parkinson bellowed, stomping a heavy boot down. Her nostrils flared, she twisted her face towards the fireplace, which happened to be in the same room Hermione and Harry were sitting in, and her lip curled up higher.

"Oh, the know-it-all is here! Great! I'll—" Pansy had started for them, reaching for her wand, but Draco quickly slid between them and nudged her onto the couch.

"She took it very well, Pansy. Didn't so much as bat an eyelash when I said I was gay, or for Draco," Harry had explained calmly, smiling at her despite the obvious exhaustion on his tear-streaked face.

"So you're…cool with it? 'Cause if not, I'll be more than glad to—" Pansy had begun to get up again, and Hermione rolled her eyes at the bravado of reckless violence.

"I'm quite okay with it. Although, I think I'll have to take you up on your offer to hex Ronald. I must say that does sound lovely. I've been playing with the idea of breaking things off. He's too childish, and he has the attention span of a Snitch," Hermione had admitted.

That stopped Pansy in her tracks and her expression shifted to incredulity. "You haven't knocked back one too many, have you?" she asked.

Hermione snorted, ruining her carefully arranged scowl. "I'm very sure."

Somehow, over threatening to bodily harm Hermione's soon-to-be ex and Lavender's soon-to-be boyfriend, Pansy and Hermione bonded and slowly became friends. Pansy eventually introduced Hermione to the gang—Daphne and Astoria Greengrass who were both studying for fashion degrees somewhere in Muggle London and used the others as dolls for their fashion experiments, Milicent Bullstrode who was like the mother of the group, ever the wealthy but hysterically dirty-minded Narcissa Malfoy, a mousy Tracey Davis who had a foul mouth like a sailor, and Flora and Hestia Carrow, who were nothing like their parents and loved to party.

The ringing of the front door pulled Hermione from her thoughts and she turned, smiling widely at the customer.

"Welcome to Snape's Apothecary. How may I help you?" she asked.


End file.
